WHITNGY' 


>    ORIfcb 


It® 


I 


GIFT  OF 

Pnor.  w,i  . 


ttje  £>ame 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

HITHERTO.     i2mo,$i.5o. 

PATIENCE  STRONG'S  OUTINGS.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

THE  GAYWORTHYS.     12010,  $1.50. 

A  SUMMER  IN  LESLIE  GOLDTHWAITE'S  LIFE.    i2mo. 

$1.50. 

WE  GIRLS.     Illustrated.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
REAL  FOLKS.     Illustrated.     i2mo,  #1.50. 
THE  OTHER  GIRLS.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
SIGHTS  AND  INSIGHTS.     2  vols.  i2mo,$3.oo. 
ODD,  OR  EVEN?     i2mo,  $1.50. 
BONNYBOROUGH.     12010,  $1.50. 
BOYS  AT  CHEQUASSET.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
MOTHER  GOOSE  FOR  GROWN  FOLKS.    i2mo,  $1.50. 
HOMESPUN  YARNS.     Short  Stories.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
HOLY-TIDES.     Poems.    i6mo,  parchment-paper,  75  cents. 
PANSIES.     Poems.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
DAFFODILS.     Poems.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
JUST   HOW:  A  Key  to  the  Cook-Books.     i6mo,  $1.00. 


WHITNEY  CALENDAR.     50  cents. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK, 


WE  GIRLS: 


A    HOME    STORY 


BY 

MRS.  A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY, 

AUTHOB  OP  "FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD,"  "THE  GAYWORTHYS,"  "A  SUMMEB 
m  LESLIE  GOLDTHWAITE'S  LIFE,"  ETC. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THIRTY-THIRD  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 

New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street. 


1887. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870, 

BY    FIELDS,    OSGOOD,    &    CO., 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington, 


CAMBRIDGE  :   PRINTED  AT  THE  RIVERSIDE  PRESS. 


PS  52, if? 

.103 


SS7 

CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  STOUT  BEGINS 


CHAPTER    II. 
AMPHIBIOUS 23 

CHAPTER    III. 

BETWIXT  AND   BETWEEN.        , 44 

CHAPTER    IV. 

NEXT  THINGS 61 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  "BACK  YETT  AJEE." 76 

CHAPTER   VI. 

CO-OPERATING 92 

CHAPTER   VII. 

SPRINKLES  AND   GUSTS 109 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

HALLOWEEN 125 


237365 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    IX. 

WINTER  NIGHTS  AND   WINTER  DAYS.     .  • 


CHAPTER    X. 

RUTH'S  RESPONSIBILITY 162 

CHAPTER   XI. 
BARBARA'S  BUZZ 18° 

CHAPTER   XII. 

EMERGENCIES .          .          ,          .      198 


WE  GIRLS:  A  HOME  STORY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE     STORY     BEGINS. 

T  begins  right  in  the  middle-, 
but  a  story  must  begin  some 
where. 

The  town  is  down  below  the 
hill. 

It  lies  in  the  hollow,  and 
stretches  on  till  it  runs  against 
another  hill,  over  opposite ;  up 
which  it  goes  a  little  way  before 
it  can  stop  itself,  just  as  it  does 
on  this  side. 

It  is  no  matter  for  the  name 
of  the  town.  It  is  a  good,  large 
country  town,  —  in  fact,  it  has 
some  time  since  come  under 
city  regulations,  —  thinking  suf 
ficiently  well  of  itself,  and,  for 
that  which  it  lacks,  only  twenty 
miles  from  the  metropolis. 

Up  our  hill  straggle  the  more  ambitious  houses,  that 
have  shaken  off  the  dust  from  their  feet,  or  their  founda- 
1 


2  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

tions,  and  surrounded  themselves  with  green  grass,  and 
are  shaded  with  trees,  and  are  called  "  places."  There 
are  the  Marchbanks  places,  and  the  "  Haddens,"  and  the 
old  Pennington  place.  At  these  houses  they  dine  at  five 
o'clock,  when  the  great  city  bankers  and  merchants  come 
home  in  the  afternoon  train  ;  down  in  the  town,  where 
people  keep  shops,  or  doctors'  or  lawyers'  offices,  or  man 
age  the  Bank,  and  where  the  manufactories  are,  they  eat 
at  one,  and  have  long  afternoons ;  and  the  schools  keep 
twice  a  day. 

We  lived  in  the  town  —  that  is,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Holabird 
did,  and  their  children,  for  such  length  of  the  time  as  their 
ages  allowed  —  for  nineteen  years  ;  and  then  we  moved 
to  Westover,  and  this  story  began. 

They  called  it  "  Westover,"  more  or  less,  years  and 
years  before ;  when  there  were  no  houses  up  the  hill  at 
all;  only  farm  lands  and  pastures,  and  a  turnpike  road 
running  straight  up  one  side  and  down  the  other,  in  the 
sun.  When  anybody  had  need  to  climb  over  the  crown, 
to  get  to  the  fields  on  this  side,  they  called  it  u  going  west 
over  "  ;  and  so  came  the  name. 

We  always  thought  it  was  a  pretty,  sunsetty  name ; 
but  it  is  n't  considered  quite  so  fine  to  have  a  house  here 
as  to  have  it  below  the  brow.  When  you  get  up  suffi 
ciently  high,  in  any  sense,  you  begin  to  go  down  again. 
Or  is  it  that  people  can't  be  distinctively  genteel,  if  they 
get  so  far  away  from  the  common  as  no  longer  to  well 
overlook  it? 

Grandfather  Holabird  —  old  Mr.  Rufus,  —  I  don't  say 
whether  he  was  my  grandfather  or  not,  for  it  does  n't 
matter  which  Holabird  tells  this  story,  or  whether  it  is  a 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  3 

Holabird  at  all  —  bought  land  here  ever  so  many  years 
ago,  and  built  a  large,  plain,  roomy  house ;  and  here  the 
boys  grew  up,  —  Roderick  and  Rufus  and  Stephen  and 
John. 

Roderick  went  into  the  manufactory  with  his  father,  — 
who  had  himself  come  up  from  being  a  workman  to  being 
owner,  —  and  learned  the  business,  and  made  money,  and 

married  a  Miss  Bragdowne  from  C ,  and  lived  on  at 

home.  Rufus  married  and  went  away,  and  died  when 
he  was  yet  a  young  man.  His  wife  went  home  to  her 
family,  and  there  were  no  little  children.  John  lives  in 
New  York,  and  has  two  sons  and  three  daughters. 

There  are  of  us  —  Stephen  Holabird's  family  — just  six. 
Stephen  and  his  wife,  Rosamond  and  Barbara  and  little 
Stephen  and  Ruth.  Ruth  is  Mrs.  Holabird's  niece,  and 
Mr.  Holabird's  second  cousin ;  for  two  cousins  married 
two  sisters.  She  came  here  when  she  had  neither  father 
nor  mother  left.  They  thought  it  queer  up  at  the  other 
house ;  because  <l  Stephen  had  never  managed  to  have 
any  too  much  for  his  own  "  ;  but  of  course,  being  the 
wife's  niece,  they  never  thought  of  interfering,  on  the 
mere  claim  of  the  common  cousinship. 

Ruth  Holabird  is  a  quiet  little  body,  but  she  has  her 
own  particular  ways  too. 

There  is  one  thing  different  in  our  house  from  most 
others.  We  are  all  known  by  our  straight  names.  I  say 
known ;  because  we  do  have  little  pet  ways  of  calling, 
among  ourselves,  —  sometimes  one  way  and  sometimes 
another ;  but  we  don't  let  these  get  out  of  doors  much. 
Mr.  Holabird  does  n't  like  it.  So  though  up  stairs,  over 
our  sewing,  or  our  bed-making,  or  our  dressing,  we  shorten 


4  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

or  sweeten,  or  make  a  little  fun,  —  though  Rose  of  the 
world  gets  translated,  if  she  looks  or  behaves  rather  spe 
cially  nice,  or  stays  at  the  glass  trying  to  do  the  first,  —  or 
Barbara  gets  only  "  Barb  "  when  she  is  sharper  than  com 
mon,  or  Stephen  is  "  Steve  "  when  he 's  a  dear,  and 
"  Stiff"  when  he  's  obstinate,  —  we  always  introduce  "my 
daughter  Rosamond,"  or  "my  sister  Barbara,"  or,  —  but 
Ruth  of  course  never  gets  nicknamed,  because  nothing 
could  be  easier  or  pleasanter  than  just  "  Ruth,"  —  and 
Stephen  is  plain  strong  Stephen,  because  he  is  a  boy  and 
is  expected  to  be  a  man  some  time.  Nobody  writes  to  us, 
or  speaks  of  us,  except  as  we  were  christened.  This  is 
only  rather  a  pity  for  Rosamond.  Rose  Holabird  is  such  a 
pretty  name.  "  But  it  will  keep,"  her  mother  tells  her. 
"  She  would  n't  want  to  be  everybody's  Rose." 

Our  moving  to  Westover  was  a  great  time. 

That  was  because  we  had  to  move  the  house ;  which  is 
what  everybody  does  not  do  who  moves  into  a  house  by 
any  means. 

We  were  very  much  astonished  when  Grandfather 
Holabird  came  in  and  told  us,  one  morning,  of  his  having 
bought  it,  —  the  empty  Beaman  house,  that  nobody  had 
lived  in  for  five  years.  The  Haddens  had  bought  the 
land  for  somebody  in  their  family  who  wanted  to  come  out 
and  build,  and  so  the  old  house  was  to  be  sold  and  moved 
away ;  and  nobody  but  old  Mr.  Holabird  owned  land  near 
enough  to  put  it  upon.  For  it  was  large  and  solid-built, 
and  could  not  be  taken  far. 

We  were  a  great  deal  more  astonished  when  he  came 
in  again,  another  day,  and  proposed  that  we  should  go  and 
live  in  it. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  5 

We  were  all  a  good  deal  afraid  of  Grandfather  Holabird. 
He  had  very  strict  ideas  of  what  people  ought  to  do  about 
money.  Or  rather  of  what  they  ought  to  do  without  it, 
when  they  did  n't  happen  to  have  any. 

Mrs.  Stephen  pulled  down  the  green  blinds  when  she 
saw  him  coming  that  day,  — -  him  and  his  cane.  Barbara 
said  she  did  n't  exactly  know  which  it  was  she  dreaded  ; 
she  thought  she  could  bear  the  cane  without  him,  or  even 
him  without  the  cane  ;  but  both  together  were  "scare- 
mendous  ;  they  did  put  down  so." 

Mrs.  Holabird  pulled  down  the  blinds,  because  he  would 
be  sure  to  notice  the  new  carpet  the  first  thing  ;  it  was  a 
cheap  ingrain,  and  the  old  one  had  been  all  holes,  so  that 
Barbara  had  proposed  putting  up  a  board  at  the  door,  — 
"  Private  way ;  dangerous  passing."  And  we  had  all 
made  over  our  three  winters'  old  cloaks  this  year,  for  the 
sake  of  it :  and  we  had  n't  got  the  carpet  then  till  the 
winter  was  half  over.  But  we  could  n't  tell  all  this  to 
Grandfather  Holabird.  There  was  never  time  for  the 
whole  of  it.  And  he  knew  that  Mr.  Stephen  was  troubled 
just  now  for  his  rent  and  taxes.  For  Stephen  Holabird 
was  the  one  in  this  family  who  could  n't  make,  or  could  n't 
manage,  money.  There  is  always  one.  I  don't  know 
but  it  is  usually  the  best  one  of  all,  in  other  ways. 

Stephen  Holabird  is  a  good  man,  kind  and  true  ;  loving 
to  live  a  gentle,  thoughtful  life,  in  his  home  and  among 
his  books  ;  not  made  for  the  din  and  scramble  of  business. 

He  never  looks  to  his  father  ;  his  father  does  not  believe 
in  allowing  his  sons  to  look  to  him  ;  so  in  the  terrible  time 
of  '57,  when  the  loss  and  the  worry  came,  he  had  to 
Uruggle  as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  go  down  with  the 


6  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

rest,  paying  sixty  cents  on  the  dollar  of  all  his  debts,  and 
beginning  again,  to  try  and  earn  the  forty,  and  to  feed  and 
clothe  his  family  meanwhile. 

Grandfather  Holabird  sent  us  down  all  our  milk,  and 
once  a  week,  when  he  bought  his  Sunday  dinner,  he 
would  order  a  turkey  for  us.  In  the  summer,  we  had  all 
the  vegetables  we  wanted  from  his  garden,  and  at  Thanks 
giving  a  barrel  of  cranberries  from  his  meadow.  But 
these  obliged  us  to  buy  an  extra  half-barrel  of  sugar. 
For  all  these  things  we  made  separate  small  change  of 
thanks,  each  time,  and  were  all  the  more  afraid  of  his 
noticing  our  new  gowns  or  carpets. 

"  When  you  have  n't  any  money,  don't  buy  anything," 
was  his  stern  precept. 

"When  you're  in  the  Black  Hole,  don't  breathe," 
Barbara  would  say,  after  he  was  gone. 

But  then  we  thought  a  good  deal  of  Grandfather  Hola 
bird,  for  all.  That  day,  when  he  came  in  and  astonished 
us  so,  we  were  all  as  busy  and  as  cosey  as  we  could  be. 

Mrs.  Holabird  was  making  a  rug  of  the  piece  of  the 
new  carpet  that  had  been  cut  out  for  the  hearth,  border 
ing  it  with  a  strip  of  shag.  Rosamond  was  inventing  a 
feather  for  her  hat  out  of  the  best  of  an  old  black-cock 
plume,  and  some  bits  of  beautiful  downy  white  ones  with 
smooth  tips,  that  she  brought  forth  out  of  a  box. 

"  What  are  they,  Rose  ?  And  where  did  you  get 
them  ?  "  Ruth  asked,  wondering. 

"  They  were  dropped,  —  and  I  picked  them  up,"  Rosa 
mond  answered,  mysteriously.  "  The  owner  never  missed 
them." 

"  Why,  Rosamond !  "  cried  Stephen,  looking  up  from 
his  Latin  grammar. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  7 

"  Did  !  "  persisted  Rosamond.  "  And  would  again. 
I  'm  sure  I  wanted  'em  most.  Hens  lay  themselves  out 
on  their  underclothing,  don't  they  ?  "  she  went  on,  quietly, 
putting  the  white  against  the  black,  and  admiring  the 
effect.  u  They  don't  dress  much  outside." 

"  O,  hens  !  What  did  you  make  us  think  it  was  people 
for?" 

"  Don't  you  ever  let  anybody  know  it  was  hens  !  Never 
cackle  about  contrivances.  Things  must  n't  be  contrived ; 
they  must  happen.  Woman  and  her  accidents,  —  mine 
are  usually  catastrophes." 

Rosamond  was  so  busy  fastening  in  the  plume,  and  giv 
ing  it  the  right  set-up,  that  she  talked  a  little  delirium  of 
nonsense. 

Barbara  flung  down  a  magazine,  —  some  old  number. 

"  Just  as  they  were  putting  the  very  tassel  on  to  the 
cap  of  the  climax,  the  page  is  torn  out !  What  do  you 
want,  little  cat  ?  "  she  went  on  to  her  pussy,  that  had 
tumbled  out  of  her  lap  as  she  got  up,  and  was  stretching 
and  mewing.  "  Want  to  go  out  doors  and  play,  little 
cat  ?  Well,  you  can.  There  's  plenty  of  room  out  of 
doors  for  two  little  cats!  "  And  going  to  the  door  with 
her,  she  met  grandfather  and  the  cane  coming  in. 

There  was  time  enough  for  Mrs.  Holabird  to  pull  down 
the  blinds,  and  for  Ruth  to  take  a  long,  thinking  look  out 
from  under  hers,  through  the  sash  of  window  left  un 
shaded  ;  for  old  Mr.  Holabird  and  his  cane  were  slow ; 
the  more  awful  for  that. 

Ruth  thought  to  herself,  "  Yes  ;  there  is  plenty  of  room 
out  of  doors  ;  and  yet  people  crowd  so !  I  wonder  why  we 
can't  live  bigger  !  " 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 


Mrs.  Holabird's  thinking  was  something  like  it. 

u  Five  hundred  dollars  to  worry  about,  for  what  is  set 
down  upon  a  few  square  yards  of '  out  of  doors.'  And  in 
side  of  that,  a  great  contriving  and  going  without,  to  put 
something  warm  underfoot  over  the  sixteen  square  feet 
that  we  live  on  most !  " 

She  had  almost  a  mind  to  pull  up  the  blinds  again ;  it 
was  such  a  very  little  matter,  the  bit  of  new  carpet,  after 
all. 

"  How  do  I  know  what  they  were  thinking  ?  "  Never 
mind.  People  do  know,  or  else  how  do  they  ever  tell 
stories  ?  We  know  lots  of  things  that  we  don't  tell 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  9 

all  the  time.  We  don't  stop  to  think  whether  we  know 
them  or  not ;  but  they  are  underneath  the  things  we  feel, 
and  the  things  we  do. 

Grandfather  came  in,  and  said  over  the  same  old  stereo 
types.  He  had  a  way  of  saying  them,  so  that  we  knew 
just  what  was  coming,  sentence  after  sentence.  It  was  a 
kind  of  family  psalter.  What  it  all  meant  was,  "  I  Ve 
looked  in  to  see  you,  and  how  you  are  getting  along.  I  do 
think  of  you  once  in  a  while."  And  our  worn-out  re 
sponses  were,  "  It 's  very  good  of  you,  and  we  're  much 
obliged  to  you,  as  far  as  it  goes." 

It  was  only  just  as  he  got  up  to  leave  that  he  said  the 
real  thing.  When  there  was  one,  he  always  kept  it  to 
the  last. 

"  Your  lease  is  up  here  in  May,  is  n't  it,  Mrs.  Stephen  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  'm  going  to  move  over  that  Beaman  house  next 
month,  as  soon  as  the  ground  settles.  I  thought  it  might 
suit  you,  perhaps,  to  come  and  live  in  it.  It  would  be 
handier  about  a  good  many  things  than  it  is  now.  Ste 
phen  might  do  something  to  his  piece,  in  a  way  of  small 
farming.  I  'd  let  him  have  the  rent  for  three  years. 
You  can  talk  it  over." 

He  turned  round  and  walked  right  out.  Nobody 
thanked  him  or  said  a  word.  We  were  too  much  sur 
prised. 

Mother  spoke  first ;  after  we  had  hushed  up  Stephen, 
who  shouted. 

I  shall  call  her  "  mother,"  now ;  for  it  always  seems  as 
if  that  were  a  woman's  real  name  among  her  children. 
Mr.  Holabird  was  apt  to  call  her  so  himself.  She  did  not 


10  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

altogether  like  it,  always,  from  him.  She  asked  him 
once  if  "  Emily  "  were  dead  and  buried.  She  had  tried 
to  keep  her  name  herself,  she  said ;  that  was  the  reason 
she  had  not  given  it  to  either  of  her  daughters.  It  was 
a  good  thing  to  leave  to  a  grandchild ;  but  she  could  not 
do  without  it  as  long  as  she  lived. 

"  We  could  keep  a  cow  !  "  said  mother. 

"  We  could  have  a  pony  !  "  cried  Stephen,  utterly  dis 
regarded. 

"  What  does  he  want  to  move  it  quite  over  for  ?  "  asked 
Rosamond.  "  His  land  begins  this  side." 

"  Rosamond  wants  so  to  get  among  the  Hill  people ! 
Pray,  why  can't  we  have  a  colony  of  our  own  ?  "  said 
Barbara,  sharply  and  proudly. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  less  trouble,"  said  Rosa 
mond,  quietly,  in  continuation  of  her  own  remark ;  hold 
ing  up,  as  she  spoke,  her  finished  hat  upon  her  hand. 
Rosamond  aimed  at  being  truly  elegant.  She  would  never 
discuss,  directly,  any  questions  of  our  position,  or  our  lim 
itations. 

"Does  that  look  —  " 

"Holabirdy?"  put  in  Barbara.  "No.  Not  a  bit. 
Things  that  you  do  never  do." 

Rosamond  felt  herself  flush  up.  Alice  Marchbanks 
had  said  once,  of  something  that  we  wore,  which  was 
praised  as  pretty,  that  it  "  might  be,  but  it  was  Holabirdy." 
Rosamond  found  it  hard  to  forget  that. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Rose.  It  's  just  as  pretty  as  it 
can  be ;  and  I  don't  mean  to  tease  you,"  said  Barbara, 
quickly.  "  But  I  do  mean  to  be  proud  of  being  Hola 
birdy,  just  as  long  as  there 's  a  piece  of  the  name  left." 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  11 

I  wish  we  had  n't  bought  the  new  carpet  now,"  said 
mother.  "  And  what  shall  we  do  about  all  those  other 
great  rooms  ?  It  will  take  ready  money  to  move.  I  'm 
afraid  we  shall  have  to  cut  it  off  somewhere  else  for  a 
while.  What  if  it  should  be  the  music,  Ruth  ?  " 

That  did  go  to  Ruth's  heart.  She  tried  so  hard  to  be 
willing  that  she  did  not  speak  at  first. 

"  '  Open  and  shet  is  a  sign  of  more  wet ! ' : '  cried 
Barbara.  "  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was  a  family  that 
had  so  much  opening  and  shetting !  We  just  get  a  little 
squeak  out  of  a  crack,  and  it  goes  together  again  and 
snips  our  noses  !  " 

u  What  is  a  '  squeak '  out  of  a  crack  ?  "  said  Rosamond, 
laughing.  "  A  mouse  pinched  in  it,  I  should  think." 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Barbara.  "  The  most  expressive 
words  are  fricassees,  —  heads  and  tails  dished  up  together. 
Can't  you  see  the  philology  of  it  ?  4  Squint '  and  '  peek.' 
Worcester  can't  put  down  everything.  He  leaves  some 
thing  to  human  ingenuity.  The  language  is  n't  all  made, 
—  or  used,  —  yet !  " 

Barbara  had  a  way  of  putting  heads  and  tails  together, 
in  defiance  —  in  aid,  as  she  maintained  —  of  the  diction 
aries. 

"  O,  I  can  practise,"  Ruth  said,  cheerily.  "  It  will  be 
so  bright  out  there,  and  the  mornings  will  be  so  early  !  " 

"  That 's  just  what  they  won't  be,  particularly,"  said 
Barbara,  "  seeing  we  're  going  4  west  over.'  ' 

"  Well,  then,  the  afternoons  will  be  long.  It  is  all  the 
same,"  said  Ruth.  That  was  the  best  she  could  do. 

"  Mother,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  've  been  thinking.  Get 
grandfather  to  have  some  of  the  floors  stained.  I  think 


12  WE  GIKLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

rugs,  and  English  druggets,  put  down  with  brass-headed 
nails,  in  the  middle,  are  delightful.  Especially  for  a  coun 
try  house." 

"  It  seems,  then,  we  are  going  ?  " 

Nobody  had  even  raised  a  question  of  that. 

Nobody  raised  a  question  when  Mr.  Holabird  came  in. 
He  himself  raised  none.  He  sat  and  listened  to  all  the 
propositions  and  corollaries,  quite  as  one  does  go  through 
the  form  of  demonstration  of  a  geometrical  fact  patent  at 
first  glance. 

"  We  can  have  a  cow,"  mother  repeated. 

"  Or  a  dog,  at  any  rate,"  put  in  Stephen,  who  found  it 
hard  to  get  a  hearing. 

"  You  can  have  a  garden,  father,"  said  Barbara.  "  It 's 
to  be  near  to  the  parcel  of  ground  that  Rufus  gave  to  his 
son  Stephen." 

"I  don't  like  to  have  you  quote  Scripture  so,"  said 
father,  gravely. 

"  I  don't,"  said  Barbara.  "  It  quoted  itself.  And  it 
is  n't  there  either.  I  don't  know  of  a  Rufus  in  all  sacred 
history.  And  there  are  n't  many  in  profane." 

"  Somebody  was  the  '  father  of  Alexander  and  Rufus  ' ; 
and  there  's  a  Rufus  '  saluted  '  at  the  end  of  an  epistle." 

"  Ruth  is  sure  to  catch  one,  if  one  's  out  in  Scripture. 
But  that  is  n't  history  ;  that 's  mere  mention." 

"  We  can  ask  the  girls  to  come  '  over '  now,  instead  of 
1  down,'  "  suggested  Rosamond,  complacently. 

Barbara  smiled. 

"  And  we  can  tell  the  girl  to  come  '  over,'  instead  of 
'  up,'  when  she  's  to  fetch  us  home  from  a  tea-drinking. 
That  will  be  one  of  the  '  handy  '  things." 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  13 

"  Girl !  we  shall  have  a  man,  if  we  have  a  garden." 
This  was  between  the  two. 

"  Mayhap,"  said  Barbara.  "And  perlikely  a  wheel 
barrow." 

"  We  shall  all  have  to  remember  that  it  will  only  be 
living  there  instead  of  here,"  said  father,  cautiously,  put 
ting  up  an  umbrella  under  the  rain  of  suggestion. 

The  umbrella  settled  the  question  of  the  weather,  how 
ever.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it  after  that.  Mother 
calculated  measurements,  and  it  was  found  out,  between 
her  and  the  girls,  that  the  six  muslin  curtains  in  our 
double  town  parlor  would  be  lovely  for  the  six  windows 
in  the  square  Beaman  best  room.  Also  that  the  parlor 
carpet  would  make  over,  and  leave  pieces  for  rugs  for 
some  of  our  delightful  stained  floors.  The  little  tables, 
and  the  two  or  three  brackets,  and  the  few  pictures,  and 
other  art-ornaments,  that  only  "  strinkled,"  Barbara  said, 
in  two  rooms,  would  be  charmingly  "  crowsy "  in  one. 
And  up  stairs  there  would  be  such  nice  space  for  cushion 
ing  and  flouncing,  and  making  upholstery  out  of  nothing, 
that  you  could  n't  do  here,  because  in  these  spyglass 
houses  the  sleeping-rooms  were  all  bedstead,  and  fireplace, 
and  closet  doors. 

They  were  left  to  their  uninterrupted  feminine  specula 
tions,  for  Mr.  Holabird  had  put  on  his  hat  and  coat  again, 
and  gone  off  west  over  to  see  his  father ;  and  Stephen  had 
"piled"  out  into  the  kitchen,  to  communicate  his  delight 
to  Winifred,  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  a  kind  of 
odd-glove  intimacy,  neither  of  them  having  in  the  house 
any  precisely  matched  companionship. 

This  ought  to  have  been  foreseen,  and  an  embargo  put 


14  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

on  ;  for  it  led  to  trouble.  By  the  time  the  green  holland 
shades  were  apportioned  to  their  new  places,  and  an  ap 
proximate  estimate  reached  of  the  whole  number  of  win 
dows  to  be  provided,  Winny  had  made  up  her  gregarious 
mind  that  she  could  not  give  up  her  town  connection,  and 
go  out  to  live  in  "  such  a  fersaakunness  "  ;  and  as  any  re 
mainder  of  time  is  to  Irish  valuation  like  the  broken 
change  of  a  dollar,  when  the  whole  can  no  longer  be 
counted  on,  she  gave  us  warning  next  morning  at  break 
fast  that  she  "  must  just  be  lukkin  out  fer  a  plaashe." 

"  But,"  said  mother,  in  her  most  conciliatory  way,  "  it 
must  be  two  or  three  months,  Winny,  before  we  move, 
if  we  do  go ;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  stay  and 
help  us  through." 

"  Ah,  sure,  I  'd  do  annything  to  hilp  yiz  through  ;  an* 
I  'm  sure,  I  taks  an  intheresht  in  yiz  ahl,  down  to  the  little 
cat  hersel'  ;  an'  indeed  I  niver  tuk  an  intheresht  in  anny 
little  cat  but  that  little  cat ;  but  I  could  n't  go  live  where 
it  wud  be  so  loahnsome,  an'  I  can't  be  out  oo  a  plaashe, 
ye  see." 

It  was  no  use  talking  ;  it  was  only  transposing  sen 
tences  ;  she  "  tuk  a  graat  intheresht  in  us,  an'  sure  she  'd 
do  annything  to  hilp  us,  but  she  must  just  be  lukkin  out 
fer  hersel'."  And  that  very  day  she  had  the  kitchen 
scrubbed  up  at  a  most  unwonted  hour,  and  her  best  bon 
net  on,  —  a  rim  of  flowers  and  lace,  with  a  wide  expanse 
of  ungarnished  head  between  it  and  the  chignon  it  was 
supposed  to  accommodate,  < —  and  took  her  "  afternoon  out  " 
to  search  for  some  new  situation,  where  people  were  sul> 
ject  neither  to  sickness  nor  removals  nor  company  nor 
children  nor  much  of  anything  ;  and  where,  under  these 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  15 

circumstances,  and  especially  if  there  were  "  set  tubs,  and 
hot  and  cold  water,"  she  would  probably  remain  just  about 
as  long  as  her  "  intheresht "  would  not  allow  of  her  con 
tinuing  with  us. 

A  kitchen  exodus  is  like  other  small  natural  commo 
tions,  —  sure  to  happen  when  anything  greater  does. 
When  the  sun  crosses  the  line  we  have  a  gale  down  be 
low. 

"  Now  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Holabird,  for 
lornly,  coming  back  into  the  sitting-room  out  of  that  va 
cancy  in  the  farther  apartments  which  spreads  itself  in 
such  a  still  desertedness  of  feeling  all  through  the  house. 

"  Just  what  we  've  done  before,  motherums  !  "  said  Bar 
bara,  more  bravely  than  she  felt.  "  The  next  one  is  some 
where.  Like  Tupper's  '  wife  of  thy  youth,'  she  must  be 
4  now  living  upon  the  earth.'  In  fact,  I  don't  doubt 
there  's  a  long  line  of  them  yet,  threaded  in  and  out 
among  the  rest  of  humanity,  all  with  faces  set  by  fate  to 
ward  our  back  door.  There's  always  a  coming  woman, 
in  that  direction  at  least." 

"  I  would  as  lief  come  across  the  staying  one,"  said 
Mrs.  Holabird,  with  meekness. 

It  cooled  down  our  enthusiasm.  Stephen,  especially, 
ivas  very  much  quenched. 

The  next  one  was  not  only  somewhere,  but  everywhere, 
it  seemed,  and  nowhere.  "  Everything  by  turns  and 
nothing  long,"  Barbara  wrote  up  over  the  kitchen  chim 
ney  with  the  baker's  chalk.  We  had  five  girls  between 
that  time  and  our  moving  to  Westover ,  and  we  had  to 
move  without  a  girl  at  last ;  only  getting  a  woman  in  to 
do  days'  work.  But  I  have  not  come  to  the  family-mov 
ing  yet. 


16  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

The  house-moving  was  the  pretty  part.  Every  pleas 
ant  afternoon,  while  the  building  was  upon  the  rollers, 
we  walked  over,  and  went  up  into  all  the  rooms,  and 
looked  out  of  every  window,  noting  what  new  pictures 
they  gave  as  the  position  changed  from  day  to  day  ;  how 
now  this  tree  and  now  that  shaded  them :  how  we  gradu 
ally  came  to  see  by  the  end  of  the  Haddens'  barn,  and  at 
last  across  it,  —  for  the  slope,  though  gradual,  was  long,  — 
and  how  the  sunset  came  in  more  and  more,  as  we  squared 
toward  the  west ;  and  there  was  always  a  thrill  of  excite 
ment  when  we  felt  under  us,  as  we  did  again  and  again, 
the  onward  momentary  surge  of  the  timbers,  as  the  work 
men  brought  all  rightly  to  bear,  and  the  great  team  of 
oxen  started  up.  Stephen  called  these  earthquakes. 

We  found  places,  day  by  day,  where  it  would  be  nice  to 
stop.  It  was  such  a  funny  thing  to  travel  along  in  a 
house  that  might  stop  anywhere,  and  thenceforward  be 
long.  Only,  in  fact,  it  could  n't;  because,  like  some 
other  things  that  seem  a  matter  of  choice,  it  was  all  pre 
ordained  ;  and  there  was  a  solid  stone  foundation  waiting 
over  on  the  west  side,  where  grandfather  meant  it  to  be. 

We  got  little  new  peeps  at  the  southerly  hills,  in  the 
fresh  breaks  between  trees  and  buildings  that  we  went  by. 
As  we  reached  the  broad,  open  crown,  we  saw  away  down 
beyond  where  it  was  still  and  woodsy ;  and  the  nice 
farm-fields  of  Grandfather  Holabird's  place  looked  sunny 
arid  pleasant  and  real  countrified. 

It  was  not  a  steep  eminence  on  either  side  ;  if  it  had 
been  the  great  house  could  not  have  been  carried  over 
as  it  was.  It  was  a  grand  generous  swell  of  land,  lifting 
up  with  a  slow  serenity  into  pure  airs  and  splendid  vision. 


WE   GIRLS.    A  HOME  STORY.  17 

We  did  not  know,  exactly,  where  the  highest  point  had 
been ;  but  as  we  came  on  toward  the  little  walled-in  ex 
cavation  which  seemed  such  a  small  mark  to  aim  at,  and 
one  which  we  might  so  easily  fail  to  hit  after  all,  we  saw 
how  behind  us  rose  the  green  bosom  of  the  field  against 
the  sky,  and  how,  day  by  day,  we  got  less  of  the  great 
town  within  our  view  as  we  settled  down  upon  our  side 
of  the  ridge. 

The  air  was  different  here  ,  it  was  full  of  hill  and  pas 
ture. 

There  were  not  many  trees  immediately  about  the  spot 
where  we  were  to  be  ;  but  a  great  group  of  ashes  and 
walnuts  stood  a  little  way  down  against  the  roadside,  and 
ail  around  in  the  far  margins  of  the  fields  were  beautiful 
elms,  and  round  maples  that  would  be  globes  of  fire  in 
autumn  days,  and  above  was  the  high  blue  glory  of  the 
unobstructed  sky. 

The  ground  fell  off  suddenly  into  a  great  hill-dimple, 
just  where  the  walls  were  laid ;  that  was  why  Grand 
father  Holabird  had  chosen  the  spot.  There  could  be  a 
cellar-kitchen ;  and  it  had  been  needful  for  the  moving, 
that  all  the  rambling,  outrunning  L,  w  iich  had  held  the 
kitchens  and  woodsheds  before,  should  be  cut  off  and 
disposed  of  as  mere  lumber.  It  was  only  the  main  build 
ing —  L-shaped  still,  of  three  very  large  rooms  below  and 
five  by  more  subdivision  above  -  vhich  had  majestically 
taken  up  its  line  of  march,  like  the  star  of  empire,  west 
ward.  All  else  that  was  needful  must  be  rebuilt. 

Mother  did  not  like  a  cellar-kitchen.     It  would  be  in 
convenient  with  one  servant.     But  Grandfather  Holabird 
had  planned  the  house  before  he  offered  it  to  us  to  live  in. 
2 


18  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

What  we  were  going  to  save  in  rent  we  must  take  out 
cheerfully  in  extra  steps. 

It  was  in  the  bright,  lengthening  days  of  April,  when 
the  bluebirds  came  fluttering  out  of  fairy-land,  that  the 
old  house  finally  stopped,  and  stood  staring  around  it  with 
its  many  eyes,  —  wide  open  to  the  daylight,  all  its  green 
winkers  having  been  taken  off,  —  to  see  where  it  was 
and  was  likely  to  be  for  the  rest  of  its  days.  It  had  a 
very  knowing  look,  we  thought,  like  a  house  that  had 
seen  the  world. 

The  sun  walked  round  it  graciously,  if  not  inquisitively. 
He  flashed  in  at  the  wide  parlor  windows  and  the  rooms 
overhead,  as  soon  as  he  got  his  brow  above  the  hill-top. 
Then  he  seemed  to  sidle  round  southward,  not  slanting 
wholly  out  his  morning  cheeriness  until  the  noonday  glory 
slanted  in.  At  the  same  time  he  began  with  the  sitting- 
room  opposite,  through  the  one  window  behind  ;  and  then 
through  the  long,  glowing  afternoon,  the  whole  bright 
west  let  him  in  along  the  full  length  of  the  house,  till  he 
just  turned  the  last  corner,  and  peeped  in,  on  the  longest 
summer  days,  at  the  very  front.  This  was  what  he  had 
got  so  far  as  to  do  by  the  time  we  moved  in,  —  as  if  he 
stretched  his  very  neck  to  find  out  the  last  there  was  to 
learn  about  it,  and  whether  nowhere  in  it  were  really  yet 
any  human  life.  He  quieted  down  in  his  mind,  I  suppose, 
when  from  morning  to  night  he  found  somebody  to  beam 
at,  and  a  busy  doing  in  every  room.  He  took  it  serenely 
then,  as  one  of  the  established  things  upon  the  earth,  and 
jut  us  in  the  regular  list  of  homes  upon  his  round,  that  he 
was  to  leave  so  many  cubic  feet  of  light  at  daily. 
I  think  he  might  like  to  look  in  at  that  best  parlor. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  19 

With  the  six  snowy-curtained  windows,  it  was  like  a 
great  white  blossom  ;  and  the  deep-green  carpet  and  the 
walls  with  vine-leaves  running  all  over  them,  in  the 
graceful-patterned  paper  that  Rosamond  chose,  were  like 
the  moss  and  foliage  among  which  it  sprung.  Here  and 
there  the  light  glinted  upon  gilded  frame  or  rich  bronze 
or  pure  Parian,  and  threw  out  the  lovely  high  tints,  and 
deepened  the  shadowy  effects,  of  our  few  fine  pictures. 
We  had  little  of  art,  but  that  little  was  choice.  It  was 
Mr.  Holabird's  weakness,  when  money  was  easy  with 
him,  to  bring  home  straws  like  these  to  the  home  nest. 
So  we  had,  also,  a  good  many  nice  books  ;  for,  one  at  a 
time,  when  there  was  no  hurrying  bill  to  be  paid,  they 
had  not  seemed  much  to  buy ;  and  in  our  brown  room, 
where  we  sat  every  day,  and  where  our  ivies  had  kindly 
wonted  themselves  already  to  the  broad,  bright  windows, 
there  were  stands  and  cases  well  filled,  and  a  great  round 
family  table  in  the  middle,  whose  worn  cloth  hid  its  shab- 
biness  under  the  comfort  of  delicious  volumes  ready  to 
the  hand,  among  which,  central  of  all,  stood  the  Shekinah 
of  the  home-spirit,  —  a  tall,  large-globed  lamp  that  drew 
us  cosily  into  its  round  of  radiance  every  night. 

Not  these  June  nights  though.  I  will  tell  you  presently 
what  the  June  nights  were  at  Westover. 

We  worked  hard  in  those  days,  but  we  were  right  blithe 
about  it.  We  had  at  last  got  an  Irish  girl  from  *4  far 
down," —  that  is  their  word  for  the  north  country  at  home, 
and  the  north  country  is  where  the  best  material  comer 
from,  — who  was  willing  to  air  her  ignorance  in  our  kitchen^ 
and  try  our  Christian  patience,  during  a  long  pupilage, 
for  the  modest  sum  of  three  dollars  a  week ;  than  which 


20  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

"  she  could  not  come  indeed  for  less,"  said  the  friend  who 
brought  her.  "  All  the  girls  was  gettin'  that."  She  had 
never  seen  dipped  toast,  and  she  "  could  n't  do  starched 
clothes  very  skilful  "  ;  but  these  things  had  nothing  to  do 
with  established  rates  of  wages. 

o 

But  who  cared,  when  it  was  June,  and  the  smell  of 
green  grass  and  the  singing  of  birds  were  in  the  air,  and 
everything  indoors  was  clean,  and  fresh  with  the  wonder 
ful  freshness  of  things  set  every  one  in  a  new  place  ?  We 
worked  hard  and  we  made  it  look  lovely,  if  the  things 
were  old  ;  and  every  now  and  then  we  stopped  in  the 
midst  of  a  busy  rush,  at  door  or  window,  to  see  joyfully 
and  exclaim  with  ecstasy  how  grandly  and  exquisitely 
Nature  was  furbishing  up  her  beautiful  old  things  also,  — 
a  million  for  one  sweet  touches  outside,  for  ours  in. 

"  Westover  is  no  longer  an  adverbial  phrase,  even  qual 
ifying  the  verb  '  to  go,'  "  said  Barbara,  exultingly,  looking 
abroad  upon  the  family  settlement,  to  which  our  new  barn, 
rising  up,  added  another  building.  "It  is  an  undoubted 
substantive  proper,  and  takes  a  preposition  before  it,  except 
when  it  is  in  the  nominative  case." 

Because  of  the  cellar-kitchen,  there  was  a  high  piazza 
built  up  to  the  sitting-room  windows  on  the  west,  which 
gradually  came  to  the  ground-level  along  the  front.  Un 
der  this  was  the  woodshed.  The  piazza  was  open,  un 
roofed  :  only  at  the  front  door  was  a  wide  covered  portico, 
from  which  steps  went  down  to  the  gravelled  entrance. 
A  light  low  railing  ran  around  the  whole. 

Here  we  had  those  blessed  country  hours  of  day-done, 
when  it  was  right  and  lawful  to  be  openly  idle  in  this 
world,  and  to  look  over  through  the  beautiful  evening 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 


21 


glooms  to  neighbor  worlds,  that  showed  always  a  round  of 
busy  light,  and  yet  seemed  somehow  to  keep  holiday-time 
with  us,  and  to  be  only  out  at  play  in  the  spacious  ether. 

We  used  to  think  of  the  sunset  all  the  day  through, 
wondering  what  new  glory  it  would  spread  for  us,  and 
gathering  eagerly  to  see,  as  for  the  witnessing  of  a  pageant. 

The  moon  was  young,  for  our  first  delight ;  and  the 
e**«oaing  planet  hung  close  by  ;  they  dropped  down  through 


the  gold  together,  till  they  touched  the  very  rim  of  the 
farthest  possible  horizon  ;  when  they  slid  silently  beneath, 
we  caught  our  suspended  breath. 

*'  But  the  curtain  is  n't  down,"  said  Barbara,  after  a 
hush. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

No.  The  great  scene  was  all  open,  still.  Wide  from 
north  to  south  stretched  the  deep,  sweet  heaven,  full  of 
the  tenderest  tints  and  softliest  creeping  shadows  ;  the 
tree-fringes  stood  up  against  it ;  the  gentle  winds  swept 
through,  as  if  creatures  winged,  invisible,  went  by ; 
touched,  one  by  one,  with  glory,  the  stars  burned  on  the 
blue  ;  we  watched  as  if  any  new,  unheard-of  wonder  might 
appear  ;  we  looked  out  into  great  depths  that  narrow  day 
light  shut  us  in  from.  Daylight  was  the  curtain. 

"  We  Ve  got  the  best  balcony  seats,  have  n't  we, 
father  ? "  Barbara  said  again,  coming  to  where  Mr. 
Holabird  sat,  and  leaning  against  the  railing. 

"  The  front  row,  and  season  tickets  !  " 

"  Every  one,  all  summer.     Only  think  !  "  said  Ruth. 

"  Pho  !  You  '11  get  used  to  it,"  answered  Stephen,  as 
if  he  knew  human  nature,  and  had  got  used  himself  to 
most  things. 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


23 


CHAPTER    II. 


AMPHIBIOUS. 

HAT  day  of  the  month  is  it?M 
asked  Mrs.  Holabird,  looking  up 
from  her  letter. 
Ruth  told. 

"How   do  you  always  know 
the   day  of  the  month  ?  "    said 
Rosamond.      "  You  are  as  pat 
as  the  almanac.      I  have  to  stop 
and  think  whether  anything  par 
ticular  has  happened,  to  remem 
ber  any  day  by,  since  the  first, 
and  then  count  up.  So,  as  things 
don't  happen  much  out  here,  I  'm 
never    sure  of  anything  except 
that  it  can't  be  more  than   the 
thirty-first ;   and  -as  to  whether 
it  can  be  that,  I  have  to  say  over 
the  old  rhyme  in  my  head." 
"  I  know  how  she  tells,"  spoke  tip   Stephen.     "  It 's 
that  thing  up  in  her  room,  —  that  pious  thing  that  whops 
over.     It  has  the  figures  down  at  the  bottom  ;  and  she 
whops  it  every  morning." 
Ruth  laughed. 


24  WE  GIKLS:     A  HOME  STOKY. 

"  What  do  you  try  to  tease  her  for  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hol- 
abird. 

"  It  does  n't  tease  her.  She  thinks  it 's  funny.  She 
laughed,  and  you  only  puckered." 

Ruth  laughed  again.  "  It  was  n't  only  that,"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  To  think  you  knew." 

"  Knew  !  Why  should  n't  I  know  ?    It 's  big  enough." 

"  Yes,  —  but  about  the  whopping.  And  the  figures 
are  the  smallest  part  of  the  difference.  You  're  a  pretty 
noticing  boy,  Steve." 

Steve  colored  a  little,  and  his  eye  twinkled.  He  saw 
that  Ruth  had  caught  him  out. 

"  I  guess  you  set  it  for  a  goody-trap,"  he  said.  "  Folks 
can't  help  reading  sign-boards  when  they  go  by.  And 
besides,  it 's  like  the  man  that  went  to  Van  Amburgh's. 
I  shall  catch  you  forgetting,  some  fine  day,  and  then  I  '11 
whop  the  whole  over  for  you." 

Ruth  had  been  mending  stockings,  and  was  just  folding 
up  the  last  pair.  She  did  not  say  any  more,  for  she  did 
not  want  to  tease  Stephen  in  her  turn :  but  there  was  a 
little  quiet  smile  just  under  her  lips  that  she  kept  from 
pulling  too  hard  at  the  corners,  as  she  got  up  and  went 
away  with  them  to  her  room. 

She  stopped  when  she  got  to  the  open  door  of  it,  with 
her  basket  in  her  hand,  and  looked  in  from  the  threshold 
at  the  hanging  scroll  of  Scripture  texts  printed  in  large 
clear  letters,  —  a  sheet  for  each  day  of  the  month,  —  and 
made  to  fold  over  and  drop  behind  the  black-walnut  rod 
to  which  they  were  bound.  It  had  been  given  her  by 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  25 

her  teacher  at  the  Bible  Class,  —  Mrs.  Ingleside ;  and 
Ruth  loved  Mrs.  Ingleside  very  much. 

Then  she  went  to  her  bureau,  and  put  her  stockings 
in  their  drawer,  and  set  the  little  basket,  with  its  cotton- 
ball  and  darner,  and  maplewood  egg,  and  small  sharp 
scissors,  on  the  top ;  and  then  she  went  and  sat  down  by 
the  window,  in  her  white  considering-chair. 

For  she  had  something  to  think  about  this  morning. 

Ruth's  room  had  three  doors.  It  was  the  middle  room 
up  stairs,  in  the  beginning  of  the  L.  Mrs.  Holabird's 
opened  into  it  from  the  front,  and  just  opposite  her  door 
another  led  into  the  large,  light  corner  room  at  the  end, 
which  Rosamond  and  Barbara  occupied.  Stephen's  was 
on  the  other  side  of  the  three-feet  passage  which  led 
straight  through  from  the  front  staircase  to  the  back  of 
the  house.  The  front  staircase  was  a  broad,  low-stepped, 
old-fashioned  one,  with  a  landing  half-way  up  ;  and  it  was 
from  this  landing  that  a  branch  half-flight  came  into  the 
L,  between  these  two  smaller  bedrooms.  Now  I  have 
begun,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  all  about  it ;  for,  if  you  are 
like  me,  you  will  be  glad  to  bs  taken  fairly  into  a  house 
you  are  to  pay  a  visit  in,  and  find  out  all  the  pleasant 
nesses  of  it,  and  whom  they  especially  belong  to. 

Ruth's  room  was  longest  across  the  house,  and  Stephen's 
with  it ;  behind  his  was  only  the  space  taken  by  some 
closets  and  the  square  of  staircase  beyond.  This  staircase 
had  landings  also,  and  was  lighted  by  a  window  high  up 
in  the  wall.  Behind  Ruth's,  as  I  have  said,  was  the 
whole  depth  of  a  large  apartment.  But  as  the  passage  di 
vided  the  L  unequally,  it  gave  the  rooms  similar  space 
and  shape,  only  at  right  angles  to  each  other. 


26  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

The  sun  came  into  Stephen's  room  in  the  morning,  and 
into  Ruth's  in  the  afternoon  ;  in  the  middle  of  the  day  the 
passage  was  one  long  shine,  from  its  south  window  at  the 
end,  right  through,  —  except  in  such  days  as  these,  that 
were  too  deep  in  the  summer  to  bear  it,  and  then  the 
green  blinds  were  shut  all  around,  and  the  warm  wind 
drew  through  pleasantly  in  a  soft  shade. 

When  we  brought  our  furniture  from  the  house  in  the 
town,  the  large  front  rooms  and  the  open  halls  used  it  up 
so,  that  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  hardly  anything  left 
but  bedsteads  and  washstands  and  bureaus,  —  the  very 
things  that  make  up-stairs  look  so  very  bedroomy.  And 
we  wanted  pretty  places  to  sit  in,  as  girls  always  do.  Ros 
amond  and  Barbara  made  a  box-sofa,  fitted  luxuriously 
with  old  pew-cushions  sewed  together,  and  a  crib  mattress 
cut  in  two  and  fashioned  into  seat  and  pillows ;  and  a 
packing-case  dressing-table,  flounced  with  a  skirt  of  white 
cross-barred  muslin  that  Ruth  had  outgrown.  In  ex 
change  for  this  Ruth  bargained  for  the  dimity  curtains 
that  had  furnished  their  two  windows  before,  and  would 
not  do  for  the  three  they  had  now. 

Then  she  shut  herself  up  one  day  in  her  room,  and 
made  them  all  go  round  by  the  hall  and  passage,  back  and 
forth ;  and  worked  away  mysteriously  till  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon,  when  she  unfastened  all  the  doors  again 
and  set  them  wide,  as  they  have  for  the  most  part  re 
mained  ever  since,  in  the  daytimes  ;  thus  rendering  Ruth's 
doings  and  ways  particularly  patent  to  the  household,  and 
most  conveniently  open  to  the  privilege  and  second  sight 
of  story-telling. 

The  white  dimity  curtains  —  one  pair  of  them  —  were 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  27 

up  at  tlie  wide  west  window ;  the  other  pair  was  cut  up 
and  made  over  into  three  or  four  things,  —  drapery  for  a 
little  old  pine  table  that  had  come  to  light  among  attic 
lumber,  upon  which  she  had  tacked  it  in  neat  plaitings 
around  the  sides,  and  overlapped  it  at  the  top  with  a  plain 
hemmed  cover  of  the  same  ;  a  great  discarded  toilet-cush 
ion  freshly  encased  with  more  of  it,  and  edged  with  magic 
ruffling ;  the  stained  top  and  tied-up  leg  of  a  little  disabled 
teapoy,  kindly  disguised  in  uniform,  —  varied  only  with  a 
narrow  stripe  of  chintz  trimming  in  crimson  arabesque,  — 
made  pretty  with  piles  of  books,  and  the  Scripture  scroll 
hung  above  it  with  its  crimson  cord  and  tassels ;  and  in 
the  window  what  she  called  afterward  her  "  considering- 
chair,"  and  in  which  she  sat  this  morning;  another  antique, 
clothed  purely  from  head  to  foot  and  made  comfortable 
beneath  with  stout  bagging  nailed  across,  over  the  deficient 
cane-work. 

Tin  tacks  and  some  considerable  machining — for  moth 
er  had  lent  her  the  help  of  her  little  "  common  sense  " 
awhile  —  had  done  it  all ;  and  Ruth's  room,  with  its  ob 
long  of  carpet,  —  which  Mrs.  Holabird  and  she  had  made 
out  before,  from  the  brightest  breadths  of  her  old  dove- 
colored  one  and  a  bordering  of  crimson  Venetian,  of  which 
there  had  not  been  enough  to  put  upon  the  staircase,  — 
looked,  as  Barbara  said,  "just  as  if  it  had  been  done  on 
purpose." 

"  It  says  it  all,  anyhow,  does  n't  it  ?  "  said  Ruth. 

Ruth  was  delightedly  satisfied  with  it,  —  with  its  situa 
tion  above  all ;  she  liked  to  nestle  in,  in  the  midst  of  peo 
ple  ;  and  she  never  minded  their  coming  through,  any 
more  than  they  minded  her  slipping  her  three  little  brass 
bolts  when  she  had  a  desire  to. 


28  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

She  sat  down  in  her  considering-chair  to-day,  to  think 
about  Adelaide  Marchbanks's  invitation. 

The  two  Marchbanks  houses  were  very  gay  this  sum 
mer.  The  married  daughter  of  one  family  —  Mrs.  Rey- 
burne  —  was  at  home  from  New  York,  and  had  brought 
a  very  fascinating  young  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  with  her. 
Roger  Marchbanks,  at  the  other  house,  had  a  couple  of 
college  friends  visiting  him ;  and  both  places  were  merry 
with  young  girls,  —  several  sisters  in  each  family, — 
always.  The  Haddens  were  there  a  good  deal,  and  there 
were  people  from  the  city  frequently,  for  a  few  days  at  a 
time.  Mrs.  Linceford  was  staying  at  the  Haddens,  and 
Leslie  Goldthwaite,  a  great  pet  of  hers,  —  Mr.  Aaron 
Goldthwaite's  daughter,  in  the  town,  —  was  often  up 
among  them  all. 

The  Holabirds  were  asked  in  to  tea-dnnkings,  and  to 
croquet,  now  and  then,  especially  at  the  Haddens',  whom 
they  knew  best ;  but  they  were  not  on  "  in  and  out " 
terms,  from  morning  to  night,  as  these  others  were  among 
themselves ;  for  one  thing,  the  little  daily  duties  of  their 
life  would  not  allow  it.  The  "jolly  times  "  on  the  Hill 
were  a  kind  of  Elf-land  to  them,  sometimes  patent  and 
free,  sometimes  shrouded  in  the  impalpable  and  impassable 
mist  that  shuts  in  the  fairy  region  when  it  wills  to  be  by 
itself  for  a  time. 

There  was  one  little  simple  sesame  which  had  a  power 
this  way  for  them,  perhaps  without  their  thinking  of  it  • 
certainly  it  was  not  spoken  of  directly  when  the  invita 
tions  were  given  and  accepted.  Ruth's  fingers  had  a 
little  easy,  gladsome  knack  at  music  ;  and  I  suppose  some 
times  it  was  only  Ruth  herself  who  realized  how  thorough- 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  29 

ly  the  fingers  earned  the  privilege  of  the  rest  of  her  bodily 
presence.  She  did  not  mind  ;  she  was  as  happy  playing 
as  Rosamond  and  Barbara  dancing  ;  it  was  all  fair  enough ; 
everybody  must  be  wanted  for  something ;  and  Ruth 
knew  that  her  music  was  her  best  thing.  She  wished 
and  meant  it  to  be  ;  Ruth  had  plans  in  her  head  which 
her  fingers  were  to  carry  out. 

But  sometimes  there  was  a  slight  flavor  in  attention, 
that  was  not  quite  palatable,  even  to  Ruth's  pride.  These 
three  girls  had  each  her  own  sort  of  dignity.  Rosamond's 
measured  itself  a  good  deal  by  the  accepted  dignity  of 
others ;  Barbara's  insisted  on  its  own  standard ;  why 
should  n't  they  —  the  Holabirds  —  settle  anything  ?  Ruth 
hated  to  have  theirs  hurt ;  and  she  did  not  like  subservi 
ency,  or  courting  favor.  So  this  morning  she  was  partly 
disturbed  and  partly  puzzled  by  what  had  happened. 

Adelaide  Marchbanks  had  overtaken  her  on  the  hill,  on 
her  way  "  down  street  "  to  do  some  errand,  and  had 
walked  on  with  her  very  affably.  At  parting  she  had 
said  to  her,  in  an  off-hand,  by-the-way  fashion,  — 

"  Ruth,  why  won't  you  come  over  to-night,  and  take 
tea  ?  I  should  like  you  to  hear  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  sing, 
and  she  would  like  your  playing.  There  won't  be  any 
company ;  but  we  're  having  pretty  good  times  now 
among  ourselves." 

Ruth  knew  what  the  "  no  company  "  meant;  just  that 
there  was  no  regular  inviting,  and  so  no  slight  in  asking 
her  alone,  out  of  her  family ;  but  she  knew  the  March- 
banks  parlors  were  always  full  of  an  evening,  and  that 
the  usual  set  would  be  pretty  sure  to  get  together,  and 
that  the  end  of  it  all  would  be  an  impromptu  German,  for 


30  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

which  she  should  play,  and  that  the  Marchbanks's  mail 
would  be  sent  home  with  her  at  eleven  o'clock. 

She  only  thanked  Adelaide,  and  said  she  "  did  n't 
know,  —  perhaps  ;  but  she  hardly  thought  she  could 
to-night ;  they  had  better  not  expect  her,"  and  got  away 
without  promising.  She  was  thinking  it  over  now. 

She  did  not  want  to  be  stiff  and  disobliging ;  and  she 
would  like  to  hear  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  sing.  If  it  were 
only  for  herself,  she  would  very  likely  think  it  a  reasona 
ble  "  quid  pro  quo,"  and  modestly  acknowledge  that  she 
had  no  claim  to  absolutely  gratuitous  compliment.  She 
would  remember  higher  reason,  also,  than  the  quid  pro 
quo ;  she  would  try  to  be  glad  in  this  little  special  "gift 
of  ministering  "  ;  but  it  puzzled  her  about  the  others. 
How  would  they  feel  about  it  ?  Would  they  like  it,  her 
being  asked  so  ?  Would  they  think  she  ought  to  go  ? 
And  what  if  she  were  to  get  into  this  way  of  being  asked 
alone  ?  —  she  the  very  youngest ;  not  "  in  society  "  yet 
even  as  much  as  Rose  and  Barbara ;  though  Barbara  said 
they  "  never  '  came  '  out,  —  they  just  leaked  out." 

That  was  it ;  that  would  not  do  ;  she  must  not  leak 
out,  away  from  them,  with  her  little  waltz  ripples ;  if 
there  were  any  small  help  or  power  of  hers  that  could 
be  counted  in  to  make  them  all  more  valued,  she  would 
not  take  it  from  the  family  fund  and  let  it  be  counted 
alone  to  her  sole  credit.  It  must  go  with  theirs.  It  was 
little  enough  that  she  could  repay  into  the  household  that 
had  given  itself  to  her  like  a  born  home. 

She  thought  she  would  not  even  ask  Mrs.  Holabird 
anything  about  it,  as  at  first  she  meant  to  do. 

But   Mrs.  Holabird  had  a  way  of  coming   right  into 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORt.  31 

things.  "  We  girls  "  means  Mrs.  Holabird  as  much  as 
anybody.  It  was  always  "  we  girls  "  in  her  heart,  since 
girls'  mothers  never  can  quite  lose  the  girl  out  of  them 
selves  ;  it  only  multiplies,  and  the  "  everlasting  nomina 
tive  "  turns  into  a  plural. 

Ruth  still  sat  in  her  white  chair,  with  her  cheek  on 
her  hand  and  her  elbow  on  the  window-ledge,  looking 
out  across  the  pleasant  swell  of  grass  to  where  they  were 
cutting  the  first  hay  in  old  Mr.  Holabird' s  five-acre  field, 
the  click  of  the  mowing-machine  sounding  like  some  new, 
gigantic  kind  of  grasshopper,  chirping  its  tremendous 
laziness  upon  the  lazy  air,  when  mother  came  in  from  the 
front  hall,  through  her  own  room  and  saw  her  there. 

Mrs.  Holabird  never  came  through  the  rooms  without 
a  fresh  thrill  of  pleasantness.  Her  home  had  expressed 
itself  here,  as  it  had  never  done  anywhere  else.  There 
was  something  in  the  fair,  open,  sunshiny  roominess  and 
cosey  connection  of  these  apartments,  hers  and  her 
daughters',  in  harmony  with  the  largeness  and  cheeriness 
and  dearness  in  which  her  love  and  her  wish  for  them 
held  them  always. 

It  was  more  glad  than  grand  ;  and  she  aimed  at  no 
grandness  ;  but  the  generous  space  was  almost  splendid 
in  its  effect,  as  you  looked  through,  especially  to  her  who 
had  lived  and  contrived  in  a  "  spy-glass  house  "  so  long. 

The  doors  right  through  from  front  to  back,  and  the 
wide  windows  at  either  end  and  all  the  way,  gave  such 
sweep  and  light ;  also  the  long  mirrors,  that  had  been 
from  time  unrememberable  over  the  mantels  in  the 
town  parlors,  in  the  old,  useless,  horizontal  style,  and 
were  here  put,  quite  elegantly  tall,  —  the  one  in  Mrs. 


32  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Holabird's  room  above  her  daintily  appointed  dressing- 
table  (which  was  only  two  great  square  trunks  full  of 
blankets,  that  could  not  be  stowed  away  anywhere  else, 
dressed  up  in  delicate-patterned  chintz  and  set  with  her 
boxes  and  cushions  and  toilet-bottles),  and  the  other,  in 
"  the  girls'  room,"  opposite ;  these  made  magnificent 
reflections  and  repetitions  ;  and  at  night,  when  they  all 
lit  their  bed-candles,  and  vibrated  back  and  forth  with 
their  last  words  before  they  shut  their  doors  and  subsided, 
gave  a  truly  festival  and  illuminated  air  to  the  whole 
mansion ;  so  that  Mrs.  Roderick  would  often  ask,  when 
she  came  in  of  a  morning  in  their  busiest  time,  "  Did  you 
have  company  last  night  ?  I  saw  you  were  all  lit  up." 

"  We  had  one  candle  apiece,"  Barbara  would  answer, 
very  concisely. 

"  I  do  wish  all  our  windows  did  n't  look  Mrs.  Roder 
ick's  way,"  Rosamond  said  once,  after  she  had  gone. 

"And  that  she  didn't  have  to  come  through  our 
clothes-yard  of  a  Monday  morning,  to  see  just  how  many 
white  skirts  we  have  in  the  wash,"  added  Barbara. 

But  this  is  off  the  track. 

"  What  is  it,  Ruth  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Holabird,  as  she 
came  in  upon  the  little  figure  in  the  white  chair,  midway 
in  the  long  light  through  the  open  rooms.  "  You  did  n't 
really  mind  Stephen,  did  you  ?  " 

"  O  no,  indeed,  aunt !  I  was  only  thinking  out  things. 
I  believe  I  've  done,  pretty  nearly.  I  guess  I  sha'  n't 
go.  I  wanted  to  make  sure  I  was  n't  provoked." 

"  You  're  talking  from  where  you  left  off,  are  n't  you, 
Ruthie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so,"  said  Ruth,  laughing.     "  It  seems 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  33 

like  talking  right  on,  —  does  n't  it  ?  —  when  you  speak 
suddenly  out  of  a  '  think.'  I  wonder  what  alone  really 
means.  It  does  n't  ever  quite  seem  alone.  Something 
thinks  alongside  always,  or  else  you  could  n't  keep  it  up." 

"  Are  you  making  an  essay  on  metaphysics  ?  You  're 
a  queer  little  Ruth." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  Ruth  laughed  again.  "  I  can't  help  it.  It 
does  answer  back." 

"  And  what  was  the  answer  about  this  time  ?  " 

That  was  how  Ruth  came  to  let  it  out. 

"  About  going  over  to  the  Marchbanks's  to-night. 
Don't  say  anything,  though.  I  thought  they  need  n't 
have  asked  me  just  to  play.  And  they  might  have  asked 
somebody  with  me.  Of  course  it  would  have  been  as 
you  said,  if  I  'd  wanted  to  ;  but  I  've  made  up  my  mind 
I  —  need  n't.  I  mean,  I  knew  right  off  that  I  didn't." 

Ruth  did  talk  a  funny  idiom  of  her  own  when  she 
came  out  of  one  of  her  thinks.  But  Mrs.  Holabird  un 
derstood.  Mothers  get  to  understand  the  older  idiom, 
just  as  they  do  baby-talk,  —  by  the  same  heart-key.  She 
knew  that  the  "  need  n't "  and  the  "  did  n't  "  referred  to 
the  "  wanting  to." 

u  You  see,  I  don't  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  let 
them  begin  with  me  so." 

"  You  're  a  very  sagacious  little  Ruth,"  said  Mrs.  Hol 
abird,  affectionately.  "  And  a  very  generous  one." 

"  No,  indeed !  "  Ruth  exclaimed  at  that.  "  I  believe  I 
think  it 's  rather  nice  to  settle  that  I  can  be  contrary.  J 
don't  like  to  be  pat-a-caked.'' 

She  was  glad,  afterward,  that  Mrs.  Holabird  under 
stood. 

3 


34  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

The  next  morning  Elinor  Hadden  and  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite  walked  over,  to  ask  the  girls  to  go  down  into  the 
wood-hollow  to  get  azaleas. 

Rosamond  and  Ruth  went.  Barbara  was  busy:  she 
was  more  apt  to  be  the  busy  one  of  a  morning  than  Rosa 
mond  ;  not  because  Rosamond  was  not  willing,  but  that 
when  she  was  at  leisure  she  looked  as  though  she  always 
had  been  and  always  expected  to  be  ;  she  would  have  on 
a  cambric  morning-dress,  and  a  jimpsey  bit  of  an  apron, 
and  a  pair  of  little  fancy  slippers,  —  (there  was  a  secret 
about  Rosamond's  slippers  ;  she  had  half  a  dozen  different 
ways  of  getting  them  up,  with  braiding,  and  beading,  and 
scraps  of  cloth  and  velvet ;  and  these  tops  would  go  on  to 
any  stray  soles  she  could  get  hold  of,  that  were  more  sole 
than  body,  in  a  way  she  only  knew  of;)  and  she  would 
have  the  sitting-room  at  the  last  point  of  morning  fresh 
ness,  —  chairs  and  tables  and  books  in  the  most  charming 
relative  positions,  and  every  little  leaf  and  flower  in  vase 
or  basket  just  set  as  if  it  had  so  peeped  up  itself  among  the 
others,  and  all  new-born  to-day.  So  it  was  her  gift  to  be 
ready  and  to  receive.  Barbara,  if  she  really  might  have 
been  dressed,  would  be  as  likely  as  not  to  be  comfortable 
in  a  sack  and  skirt  and  her  u  points,"  —  as  she  called  her 
black  prunella  shoes,  that  were  weak  at  the  heels  and  go 
ing  at  the  sides,  and  kept  their  original  character  only  by 
these  embellishments  upon  the  instep,  —  and  to  have 
dumped  herself  down  on  the  broad  lower  stair  in  the  hall, 
just  behind  the  green  blinds  of  the  front  entrance,  with  a 
chapter  to  finish  in  some  irresistible  book,  or  a  pair  of 
stockings  to  mend. 

Rosamond  was  only  thankful  when  she  was  behind  the 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  35 

scenes  and  would  stay  there,  not  bouncing  into  the  door 
way  from  the  dining-room,  with  unexpected  little  bobs,  a 
cake-bowl  in  one  hand  and  an  egg-beater  in  the  other,  to 
get  what  she  called  u  grabs  of  conversation." 

Of  course  she  did  not  do  this  when  the  Marchbankses 
were  there,  or  if  Miss  Pennington  called  ;  but  she  could 
not  resist  the  Haddens  and  Leslie  Goldthwaite  ;  besides, 
"  they  did  have  to  make  their  own  cake,  and  why  should 
they  be  ashamed  of  it  ?  " 

Rosamond  would  reply  that  "  they  did  have  to  make 
their  own  beds,  but  they  could  not  bring  them  down  stairs 
for  parlor  work." 

"  That  was  true,  and  reason  why  :  they  just  could  n't; 
if  they  could,  she  would  make  up  hers  all  over  the  house, 
just  where  there  was  the  most  fun.  She  hated  pretences, 
and  being  fine." 

Rosamond  met  the  girls  on  the  piazza  to-day,  when  she 
saw  them  coming ;  for  Barbara  was  particularly  awful  at 
this  moment,  with  a  skimmer  and  a  very  red  face,  doing 
raspberries;  and  she  made  them  sit  down  there  in  the 
shaker  chairs,  while  she  ran  to  get  her  hat  and  boots,  and 
to  call  Ruth  ;  and  the  first  thing  Barbara  saw  of  them  was 
from  the  kitchen  window,  "  slanting  off  "  down  over  the 
croquet-ground  toward  the  big  trees. 

Somebody  overtook  and  joined  them  there,  —  somebody 
in  a  dark  gray  suit  and  bright  buttons. 

"  Why,  that,"  cried  Barbara,  all  to  herself  and  her  up 
lifted  skimmer,  looking  after  them,  —  "  that  must  be  the 
brother  from  West  Point  the  Inglesides  expected,  —  that 
young  Dakie  Thayne  !  " 

It  was  Dakie  Thayne ;  who,  after  they  had  all  been  in- 


36 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


troduced  and  were  walking  on  comfortably  together,  asked 
Ruth  Holabird  if  it  had  not  been  she  who  had  been  ex 
pected  and  wanted  so  badly  last  night  at  Mrs.  March- 
banks's  ? 

Ruth  dropped  a  little  back  as  she  walked  with  him,  at 
the  moment,  behind  the  others,  along  the  path  between 
the  chestnut-trees. 

"I  don't  think  they  quite  expected  me.  I  told  Adelaide 
1  did  not  think  I  could  come.  I  am  the  youngest,  you 
see,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "and  I  don't  go  out  very 
much,  except  with  my  —  cousins." 

"  Your  cousins  ?     I  fancied  you  were  all  sisters." 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STOKY.  37 

«  It  is  all  the  same,"  said  Ruth.  "  And  that  is  why  I 
always  catch  my  breath  a  little  before  I  say  '  cousins.' ' 

"  Could  n't  they  come  ?  What  a  pity  !  "  pursued  this 
young  man,  who  seemed  bent  upon  driving  his  questions 

home.  y 

"  O,  it  was  n't  an  invitation,  you  know.     It  was  n  t 

company." 

"  Was  n't  it?" 

The  inflection  was  almost  imperceptible,  and  quite  un 
intentional  ;  Dakie  Thayne  was  very  polite  ;  but  his  eye 
brows  went  up  a  little —just  a  line  or  two  — as  he  said 
it,  the  light  beginning  to  come  in  upon  him. 

Dakie  had  been  about  in  the  world  somewhat ;  his  two 
years  at  West  Point  were  not  all  his  experience ;  and  he 
knew  what  queer  little  wheels  were  turned  sometimes. 

He  had  just  come  to  Z (I  must  have  a  letter  for 

my  nameless  town,  and  I  have  gone  through  the  whole 
alphabet  for  it,  and  picked  up  a  crooked  stick  at  last), 
and  the  new  group  of  people  he  had  got  among  interested 
him.  He  liked  problems  and  experiments.  They  were 
what  he  excelled  in  at  the  Military  School.  This  was 
his  first  furlough ;  and  it  was  since  his  entrance  at  the 
Academy  that  his  brother,  Dr.  Ingleside,  had  come  to 

Z ,  to  take  the  vacant  practice  of  an  old  physician, 

disabled  from  continuing  it. 

Dakie  and  Leslie  Goldthwaite  and  Mrs.  Ingleside  were 
old  friends  ;  almost  as  old  as  Mrs.  Ingleside  and  the  doc 
tor. 

Ruth  Holabird  had  a  very  young  girl's  romance  of  ad 
miration  for  one  older,  in  her  feeling  toward  Leslie.  She 
had  never  known  any  one  just  like  her ;  and,  in  truth, 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Leslie  was  different,  in  some  things,  from  the  little  world 
of  girls  about  her.  In  the  "  each  and  all  "  of  their  pretty 
groupings  and  pleasant  relations  she  was  like  a  bit  of  fresh, 
springing,  delicate  vine  in  a  bouquet  of  bright,  similarly 
beautiful  flowers  ;  taking  little  free  curves  and  reaches  of 
her  own,  just  as  she  had  grown ;  not  tied,  nor  placed,  nor 
constrained;  never  the  central  or  most  brilliant  thing;  but 
somehow  a  kind  of  life  and  grace  that  helped  and  touched 
and  perfected  all. 

There  was  something  very  real  and  individual  about 
her;  she  was  no  "girl  of  the  period,"  made  up  by  the 
fashion  of  the  day.  She  would  have  grown  just  as  a  rose 
or  a  violet  would,  the  same  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  cen 
tury  or  the  third.  They  called  her  "  grandmotherly  " 
sometimes,  when  a  certain  quaint  primitiveness  that  was 
in  her  showed  itself.  And  yet  she  was  the  youngest  girl 
in  all  that  set,  as  to  simpleness  and  freshness  and  unpre- 
tendingness,  though  she  was  in  her  twentieth  year  now, 
which  sounds  —  did  n't  somebody  say  so  over  my  shoul 
der  ?  —  so  very  old  !  Adelaide  Marchbanks  used  to  say  of 
her  that  she  had  "  stayed  fifteen." 

She  looked  real.  Her  bright  hair  was  gathered  up 
loosely,  with  some  graceful  turn  that  showed  its  fine  shin 
ing  strands  had  all  been  freshly  dressed  and  handled,  un 
der  a  wide-meshed  net  that  lay  lightly  around  her  head  ; 
it  was  not  packed  and  stuffed  and  matted  and  put  on  like 
a  pad  or  bolster,  from  the  bump  of  benevolence,  all  over 
that  and  everything  else  gentle  and  beautiful,  down  to  the 
bend  of  her  neck  ;  and  her  dress  suggested  always  some 
one  simple  idea  which  you  could  trace  through  it,  in  its 
harmony,  at  a  glance  ;  not  complex  and  bewildering  and 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  39 

fatiguing  with  its  many  parts  and  folds  and  festoonings 
and  the  garnishings  of  every  one  of  these.  She  looked 
more  as  young  women  used  to  look  before  it  took  a  lady 
with  her  dressmaker  seven  toilsome  days  to  achieve  a 
*'  short  street  suit,"  and  the  public  promenades  became 
the  problems  that  they  now  are  to  the  inquiring  minds 
that  are  forced  to  wonder  who  stops  at  home  and  does  up 
all  the  sewing,  and  where  the  hair  all  comes  from. 

Some  of  the  girls  said,  sometimes,  that  "  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite  liked  to  be  odd ;  she  took  pains  to  be."  This 
was  not  true;  she  began  with  the  prevailing  fashion  — 
the  fundamental  idea  of  it  —  always,  when  she  had  a  new 
thing ;  but  she  modified  and  curtailed,  —  something  was 
sure  to  stop  her  somewhere ;  and  the  trouble  with  the 
new  fashions  is  that  they  never  stop.  To  use  a  phrase 
she  had  picked  up  a  few  years  ago,  "  something  always 
got  crowded  out."  She  had  other  work  to  do,  and  she 
must  choose  the  finishing  that  would  take  the  shortest 
time  ;  or  satin  folds  would  cost  six  dollars  more,  and  she 
wanted  the  money  to  use  differently ;  the  dress  was  never 
the  first  and  the  must  be ;  so  it  came  by  natural  develop 
ment  to  express  herself,  not  the  rampant  mode  ;  and  her 
little  ways  of  "  dodging  the  dressmaker,"  as  she  called  it, 
were  sure  to  be  graceful,  as  well  as  adroit  and  decided. 

It  was  a  good  thing  for  a  girl  like  Ruth,  just  growing 
up  to  questions  that  had  first  come  to  this  other  girl  of 
nineteen  four  years  ago,  that  this  other  had  so  met  them 
one  by  one,  and  decided  them  half  unconsciously  as  she 
went  along,  that  now,  for  the  great  puzzle  of  the  "  out 
side,"  which  is  getting  more  and  more  between  us  and 
our  real  living,  there  was  this  one  more  visible,  unobtru- 


40  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME  STORY. 

sive  answer  put  ready,  and  with  such  a  charm  of  attrac 
tiveness,  into  the  world. 

Ruth  walked  behind  her  this  morning,  with  Dakie 
Thayne,  thinking  how  "  achy  "  Elinor  Hadden's  puffs  and 
French-blue  bands,  and  bits  of  embroidery  looked,  for 
the  stitches  somebody  had  put  into  them,  and  the  weary 
otarching  and  ironing  and  perking  out  that  must  be  done 
for  them,  beside  the  simple  hem  and  the  one  narrow 
basque  ruffling  of  Leslie's  cambric  morning-dress,  which 
had  its  color  and  its  set-off  in  itself,  in  the  bright  little 
carnations  with  brown  stems  that  figured  it.  It  was 
"trimmed  in  the  piece";  and  that  was  precisely  what 
Leslie  had  said  when  she  chose  it.  She  " dodged"  a 
great  deal  in  the  mere  buying. 

Leslie  and  Ruth  got  together  in  the  wood-hollow, 
where  the  little  vines  and  ferns  began.  Leslie  was  quick 
to  spy  the  bits  of  creeping  Mitchella,  and  the  wee  feathery 
fronds  that  hid  away  their  miniature  grace  under  the  feet 
of  their  taller  sisters.  They  were  so  pretty  to  put  in 
shells,  and  little  straight  tube-vases.  Dakie  Thayne 
helped  Rose  and  Elinor  to  get  the  branches  of  white 
honeysuckle  that  grew  higher  up. 

Rose  walked  with  the  young  cadet,  the  arms  of  both 
filled  with  the  fragrant-flowering  stems,  as  they  came  up 
homeward  again.  She  was  full  of  bright,  pleasant  chat. 
It  just  suited  her  to  spend  a  morning  so,  as  if  there  were 
ho  rooms  to  dust  and  no  tables  to  set,  in  all  the  great 
sunshiny  world  ;  but  as  if  dews  freshened  everything,  and 
furnishings  "  came,"  and  she  herself  were  clothed  of  the 
dawn  and  the  breeze,  like  a  flower.  She  never  cared  so 
much  for  afternoons,  she  said;  of  course  one  had  got 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  41 

through  with  the  prose  by  that  time ;  but  "  to  go  off  like 
a  bird  or  a  bee  right  after  breakfast,  —  that  was  living ; 
that  was  the  Irishman's  blessing,  — '  the  top  o'  the  morn- 
m'  till  yez  I '  " 

"  Won't  you  come  in  and  have  some  lunch  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  the  most  magnificent  intrepidity,  when  she 
had  n't  the  least  idea  what  there  would  be  to  give  them 
all  if  they  did,  as  they  came  round  under  the  piazza  base 
ment,  and  up  to  the  front  portico. 

They  thanked  her,  no  ;  they  must  get  home  with  their 
flowers  ;  and  Mrs.  Ingleside  expected  Dakie  to  an  early 
dinner. 

Upon  which  she  bade  them  good  by,  standing  among 
her  great  azalea  branches,  and  looking  u  awfully  pretty," 
as  Dakie  Thayne  said  afterward,  precisely  as  if  she  had 
nothing  else  to  think  of. 

The  instant  they  had  fairly  moved  away,  she  turned 
and  ran  in,  in  a  hurry  to  look  after  the  salt-cellars,  and  to 
see  that  Katty  had  n't  got  the  table-cloth  diagonal  to  the 
square  of  the  room  instead  of  parallel,  or  committed  any 
of  the  other  general-housework  horrors  which  she  de 
tailed  herself  on  daily  duty  to  prevent. 

Barbara  stood  behind  the  blind. 

"  The  audacity  of  that !  "  she  cried,  as  Rosamond  came 
in.  "I  shook  right  out  of  my  points  when  I  heard  you  ! 
Old  Mrs.  Lovett  has  been  here,  and  has  eaten  up  exactly 
the  last  slice  of  cake  but  one.  So  that 's  Dakie  Thayne  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  's  a  nice  little  fellow.  Are  n't  these  lovely 
flowers  ?  " 

"  O  my  gracious  !  that  great  six-foot  cadet !  " 

"  It  does  n't  matter  about  the  feet.    He  's  barely  eigh 
teen.     But  he 's  nice,  —  ever  so  nice." 


42  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  It 's  a  case  of  Outledge,  Leslie,"  Dakie  Thayne  said, 
going  down  the  hill.  "  They  treat  those  girls  —  amphib 
iously  !  " 

"  Well,"  returned  Leslie,  laughing,  "  I'm  amphibious. 
I  live  in  the  town,  and  I  can  come  out  —  and  not  die  — 
on  the  Hill.  I  like  it.  I  always  thought  that  kind  of 
animal  had  the  nicest  time." 

They  met  Alice  Marchbanks  with  her  cousin  Maud, 
coming  up. 

"  We  've  been  to  see  the  Holabirds,"  said  Dakie 
Thayne,  right  off. 

"  I  wonder  why  that  little  Ruth  did  n't  come  last  night  ? 
We  really  wanted  her,"  said  Alice  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite. 

"  For  batrachian  reasons,  I  believe,"  put  in  Dakie,  full 
of  fun.  "  She  is  n't  quite  amphibious  yet.  She  don't 
come  out  from  under  water.  That  is,  she  's  young,  and 
does  n't  go  alone.  She  told  me  so." 

You  need  n't  keep  asking  how  we  know !  Things 
that  belong  get  together.  People  who  tell  a  story  see 
round  corners. 

The  next  morning  Maud  Marchbanks  came  over,  and 
asked  us  all  to  play  croquet  and  drink  tea  with  them  that 
evening,  with  the  Goldthwaites  and  the  Haddens. 

"  We  're  growing  very  gay  and  multitudinous,"  she 
said,  graciously. 

"  The  midshipman  's  got  home,  —  Harry  Goldthwaite, 
you  know." 

Ruth  was  glad,  then,  that  mother  knew ;  she  had  the 
girls'  pride  in  her  own  keeping  ;  there  was  no  responsi 
bility  of  telling  or  withholding.  But  she  was  glad  also 
that  she  had  not  gone  last  night. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  43 

When  we  went  up  stairs  at  bedtime,  Rosamond  asked 
Barbara  the  old,  inevitable  question,  — 

"  What  have  you  got  to  wear,  Barb,  to-morrow  night,  — 
that 's  ready  ?  " 

And  Barbara  gave,  in  substance,  the  usual  unperturbed 
answer,  "  Not  a  dud  !  " 

But  Mrs.  Holabird  kept  a  garnet  and  white  striped  silk 
skirt  on  purpose  to  lend  to  Barbara.  If  she  had  given  it, 
there  would  have  been  the  end.  And  among  us  there 
would  generally  be  a  muslin  waist,  and  perhaps  an  over- 
skirt.  Barbara  said  our  "  overskirts "  were  skirts  that 
were  over  with,  before  the  new  fashion  came. 

Barbara  went  to  bed  like  a  chicken,  sure  that  in  the  big 
world  to-morrow  there  would  be  something  that  she  could 
pick  up. 

It  was  a  miserable  plan,  perhaps ;  but  it  was  one  of  our 
ways  at  Westover. 


44 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STOKY. 


CHAPTER    III. 

BETWIXT   AND   BETWEEN. 

HREE  things  came  of  the  March- 
banks's  party  for  us  Holabirds. 

Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  took  a  great 
fancy  to  Rosamond. 

Harry  Goldthwaite  put  a  new 
idea  into  Barbara's  head. 

And  Ruth's  little  undeveloped 
plans,  which  the  facile  fingers 
were  to  carry  out,  received  a 
fresh  and  sudden  impetus. 

You  have  thus  the  three  heads 
of  the  present  chapter. 

H^w  could  any  one  help  tak 
ing  a  fancy  to  Rosamond  Hola- 
bird  ?  In  the  first  place,  as 
Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  said,  there 
was  the  name,  —  *'  a  making  for 
anybody  "  ;  for  names  do  go  a 
great  way,  ?>flt  withstanding  Shakespeare. 

It  made  /ou  think  of  everything  springing  and  singing 
and  blooming  and  sweet.  Its  expression  was  "  blossomy, 
nightingale-y  "  ;  atilt  with  glee  and  grace.  And  that  was 
*he  way  she  looked  and  seemed.  If  you  spoke  to  her 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  45 

suddenly,  the  head  turned  as  a  bird's  does,  with  a  small, 
shy,  all-alive  movement ;  and  the  bright  eye  glanced  up 
at  you,  ready  to  catch  electric  meanings  from  your  own. 
When  she  talked  to  you  in  return,  she  talked  all  over ; 
with  quiet,  refined  radiations  of  life  and  pleasure  in  each 
involuntary  turn  and  gesture ;  the  blossom  of  her  face 
lifted  and  swayed  like  that  of  a  flower  delicately  poised 
upon  its  stalk.  She  was  like  a  flower  chatting  with  a 
breeze. 

She  forgot  altogether,  as  a  present  fact,  that  she  looked 
pretty ;  but  she  had  known  it  once,  when  she  dressed  her 
self,  and  been  glad  of  it ;  and  something  lasted  from  the 
gladness  just  enough  to  keep  out  of  her  head  any  painful, 
conscious  question  of  how  she  was  seeming.  That,  and 
her  innate  sense  of  things  proper  and  refined,  made  her 
manners  what  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  pronounced  them,  — 
"  exquisite." 

That  was  all  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  waited  to  find  out. 
She  did  not  go  deep ;  hence  she  took  quick  fancies  or  dis 
likes,  and  a  great  many  of  them. 

She  got  Rosamond  over  into  a  corner  with  herself,  and 
they  had  everybody  round  them.  All  the  people  in  the 
room  were  saying  how  lovely  Miss  Holabird  looked  to 
night.  For  a  little  while  that  seemed  a  great  and  beautiful 
thing.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  or  not.  It  was 
pleasant  to  have  them  find  it  out ;  but  she  would  have 
been  just  as  lovely  if  they  had  not.  Is  a  party  so  very 
particular  a  thing  to  be  lovely  in  ?  I  wonder  what  makes 
the  difference.  She  might  have  stood  on  that  same  square 
of  the  Turkey  carpet  the  next  day  and  been  just  as  pretty. 
But,  somehow,  it  seemed  grand  in  the  eyes  of  us  girls, 


46  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

and  it  meant  a  great  deal  that  it  would  not  mean  the 
day,  to  have  her  stand  right  there,  and  look  just  so,  to 
night. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all,  though,  Ruth  saw  something  that 
seemed  to  her  grander,  —  another  girl,  in  another  corner, 
looking  on,  —  a  girl  with  a  very  homely  face  ;  somebody's 
cousin,  brought  with  them  there.  She  looked  pleased  and 
self- forgetful,  differently  from  Rose  in  her  prettiness  ;  she 
looked  as  if  she  had  put  herself  away,  comfortably  satis 
fied  ;  this  one  looked  as  if  there  were  no  self  put  away 
anywhere.  Ruth  turned  round  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite, 
who  stood  by. 

"I  do  think,"  she  said,  —  "don't  you?  —  it's  just  the 
bravest  and  strongest  thing  in  the  world  to  be  awfully 
homely,  and  to  know  it,  and  to  go  right  on  arid  have  a 
good  time  just  the  same ;  —  every  day,  you  see,  right 
through  everything !  I  think  such  people  must  be  splen 
did  inside ! " 

"  The  most  splendid  person  I  almost  ever  knew  was 
tike  that,"  said  Leslie.  "And  she  was  fifty  years  old 
too/' 

"  "Well,"  said  Ruth,  drawing  a  girl's  long  breath  at  the 
fifty  years,  "it  was  pretty  much  over  then,  wasn't  it? 
But  I  think  I  should  like — just  once  —  to  look  beautiful 
at  a  party !  " 

The  best  of  it  for  Barbara  had  been  on  the  lawn,  before 
tea. 

Barbara  was  a  magnificent  croquet-player.  She  and 
Plarry  Goldthwaite  were  on  one  side,  and  they  led  off 
their  whole  party,  going  nonchalantly  through  wicket  after 
wicket,  as  if  they  could  not  help  it ;  and  after  they  had 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


47 


well  distanced  the  rest,  just  toling  each  other  along  over 
the  ground,  till  they  were  rovers  together,  and  came  down 
into  the  general  field  again  with  havoc  to  the  enemy,  and 
the  whole  game  in  their  hands  on  their  own  part. 

"  It  was  a  handsome  thing  to  see,  for  once,"  Dakie 
Thayne  said ;  u  but  they  might  make  much  of  it,  for  it 
would  n't  do  to  let  them  play  on  the  same  side  again." 

It  was  while  they  were  off,  apart  down  the  slope,  just 
croqueted  away  for  the  time,  to  come  up  again  with  tre 
mendous  charge  presently,  that  Harry  asked  her  if  she 
knew  the  game  of  "  ship-coil." 


48  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

Barbara  shook  her  head.     What  was  it  ? 

"  It  is  a  pretty  thing.  The  officers  of  a  Russian  frigate 
showed  it  to  us.  They  play  it  with  rings  made  of  spliced 
rope ;  we  had  them  plain  enough,  but  you  might  make 
them  as  gay  as  you  liked.  There  are  ten  rings,  and  each 
player  throws  them  all  at  each  turn.  The  object  is  to 
string  them  up  over  a  stake,  from  which  you  stand  at  a 
certain  distance.  Whatever  number  you  make  counts  up 
for  your  side,  and  you  play  as  many  rounds  as  you  may 
agree  upon." 

Barbara  thought  a  minute,  and  then  looked  up  quickly. 

u  Have  you  told  anybody  else  of  that  ?  " 

"  Not  here.    I  have  n't  thought  of  it  for  a  good  while." 

u  Would  you  just  please,  then,"  said  Barbara  in  a  hur 
ry,  as  somebody  came  down  toward  them  in  pursuit  of  a 
ball,  "  to  hush  up,  and  let  me  have  it  all  to  myself  for  a 
while  ?  And  then,"  she  added,  as  the  stray  ball  was 
driven  up  the  lawn  again,  and  the  player  went  away  after 
it,  "  come  some  day  and  help  us  get  it  up  at  Westover  ? 
It 's  such  a  thing,  you  see,  to  get  anything  that 's  new." 

"  I  see.  To  be  sure.  You  shall  have  the  State 
Right,  —  is  n't  that  what  they  make  over  for  patent  con 
cerns  ?  And  we  '11  have  something  famous  out  of  it. 
They  're  getting  tired  of  croquet,  or  thinking  they  ought 
to  be,  which  is  the  same  thing."  It  was  Barbara's  turn 
now  ;  she  hit  Harry  Goldthwaite's  ball  with  one  of  her 
precise  little  taps,  and,  putting  the  two  beside  each  other 
with  her  mallet,  sent  them  up  rollicking  into  the  thick  of 
the  fight,  where  the  final  hand-to-hand  struggle  was  taking 
place  between  the  last  two  wickets  and  the  stake.  Every 
body  was  there  in  a  bunch  when  she  came  ;  in  a  minute 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  49 

everybody  of  the  opposing  party  was  everywhere  else,  and 
she  and  Harry  had  it  between  them  again.  She  played 
out  two  balls,  and  then,  accidentally,  her  own.  After  one 
"  distant,  random  gun,"  from  the  discomfited  foe,  Harry 
rolled  quietly  up  against  the  wand,  and  the  game  was 
over. 

It  was  then  and  there  that  a  frank,  hearty  liking  and 
alliance  was  re-established  between  Harry  Goldthwaite 
and  Barbara,  upon  an  old  remembered  basis  of  ten  years 
ago,  when  he  had  gone  away  to  school  and  given  her  half 
his  marbles  for  a  parting  keepsake,  —  "as  he  might  have 
done,"  we  told  her,  "  to  any  other  boy." 

"  Ruth  has  n't  had  a  good  time,"  said  mother,  softly, 
standing  in  her  door,  looking  through  at  the  girls  laying 
away  ribbons  and  pulling  down  hair,  and  chattering  as 
only  girls  in  their  teens  do  chatter  at  bedtime. 

Ruth  was  in  her  white  window-chair,  one  foot  up  on  a 
cricket ;  and,  as  if  she  could  not  get  into  that  place  with 
out  her  considering-fit  coming  over  her,  she  sat  with  her 
one  unlaced  boot  in  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  away  out  over 
the  moonlighted  fields. 

"  She  played  all  the  evening,  nearly.  She  always 
does,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Why,  I  had  a  splendid  time !  "  cried  Ruth,  coming 
down  upon  them  out  of  her  cloud  with  flat  contradiction. 
"  And  I  'm  sure  I  did  n't  play  all  the  evening.  Mrs.  Van 
Alstyne  sang  Tennyson's  4  Brook,'  aunt  ;  and  the  music 
splashes  so  in  it !  It  did  really  seem  as  if  she  were  spat 
tering  it  all  over  the  room,  and  it  was  n't  a  bit  of  matter  ! " 

"  The  time  was  so  good,  then,  that  it  has  made  you  so 
ber,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird,  coming  and  putting  her  hand  on 


50  WE  GIRLS:   A  HOME  STORY. 

the  back  of  the  white  chair.  "  I  Ve  known  good  times  do 
that." 

"  It  has -given  me  ever  so  much  thinking  to  do  ;  besides 
that  brook  in  my  head,  '  going  on  forever  —  ever  !  going- 
on-forever!  '  And  Ruth  broke  into  the  joyous  refrain 
of  the  song  as  she  ended. 

"  I  shall  come  to  you  for  a  great  long  talk  to-morrow 
morning,  mother!"  Ruth  said  again,  turning  her  head 
and  touching  her  lips  to  the  mother-hand  on  her  chair. 
She  did  not  always  say  " mother,"  you  see;  it  was  only 
when  she  wanted  a  very  dear  word. 

"  We'll  wind  the  rings  with  all  the  pretty-colored  stuffs 
we  can  find  in  the  bottomless  piece-bag,"  Barbara  was 
saying,  at  the  same  moment,  in  the  room  beyond.  "  And 
you  can  bring  out  your  old  ribbon-box  for  the  bowing-up, 
Rosamond.  It's  a  charity  to  clear  out  your  glory-holes 
once  in  a  while.  It 's  going  to  be  just  —  splend-umphant !  " 
"  If  you  don't  go  and  talk  about  it,"  said  Rosamond. 
u  We  must  keep  the  new  of  it  to  ourselves." 

"  As  if  I  needed  !  "  cried  Barbara,  indignantly.  "  When 
I  hushed  up  Harry  Goldthwaite,  and  went  round  all  the 
rest  of  the  evening  without  doing  anything  but  just  give 
you  that  awful  little  pinch  !  " 

"  That  was  bad  enough,"  said  Rosamond,  quietly ;  she 
never  got  cross  or  inelegantly  excited  about  anything. 
"But  I  do  think  the  girls  will  like  it.  And  we  might 
have  tea  out  on  the  broad  piazza." 

"That  is  bare  floor  too,"  said  Barbara,  mischievously. 
Now,  our  dining-room  had  not  yet  even  the  English 
drugget.     The   dark  new  boards  would  do  for  summer 
weather,  mother  said.   "  If  it  had  been  real  oak,  polished  !  " 
Rosamond  thought.     "  But  hard-pine  was  kitcheny." 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  51 

Ruth  went  to  bed  with  the  rest  of  her  thinking  and  the 
brook-music  flittering  in  her  brain. 

Mrs.  Lewis  Marchbanks  had  talked  behind  her  with 
Jeannie  Hadden  about  her  playing.  It  was  not  the  com 
pliment  that  excited  her  so,  although  they  said  her  touch 
and  expression  were  wonderful,  and  that  her  fingers  were 
like  little  flying  magnets,  that  couldn't  miss  the  right 
points.  Jeannie  Hadden  said  she  liked  to  see  Ruth  Hola- 
bird  play,  as  well  as  she  did  to  hear  her. 

But  it  was  Mrs.  Marchbanks's  saying  that  she  would 
give  almost  anything  to  have  Lily  taught  such  a  style ; 
she  hardly  knew  what  she  should  do  with  her ;  there  was 
no  good  teacher  in  the  town  who  gave  lessons  at  the 
houses,  and  Lily  was  not  strong  enough  to  go  regularly  to 
Mr.  Viertelnote.  Besides,  she  had  picked  up  a  story  of 
his  being  cross,  and  rapping  somebody's  fingers,  and  Lily 
was  very  shy  and  sensitive.  She  never  did  herself  any 
justice  if  she  began  to  be  afraid. 

Jeannie  Hadden  said  it  was  just  her  mother's  trouble 
about  Reba,  except  that  Reba  was  strong  enough  ;  only 
that  Mrs.  Hadden  preferred  a  teacher  to  come  to  the 
house. 

"  A  good  young-lady  teacher,  to  give  beginners  a  de 
sirable  style  from  the  very  first,  is  exceedingly  needed 
since  Miss  Robbyns  went  away,"  said  Mrs.  Marchbanks, 
to  whom  just  then  her  sister  came  and  said  something,  and 
drew  her  off. 

Ruth's  fingers  flew  over  the  keys  ;  and  it  must  have 
been  magnetism  that  guided  them,  for  in  her  brain  quite 
other  quick  notes  were  struck,  and  ringing  out  a  busy 
chime  of  their  own. 


52  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  If  I  only  could  !  "  she  was  saying  to  herself.  «  If 
they  really  would  have  me,  and  they  would  let  me  at 
home.  Then  I  could  go  to  Mr.  Viertelnote.  I  think  I 
could  do  it !  I  'm  almost  sure  !  I  could  show  anybody 
what  I  know,  —  and  if  they  like  that !  " 

It  went  over  and  over  now,  as  she  lay  wakeful  in  bed, 
mixed  up  with  the  "forever  —  ever,"  and  the  dropping 
tinkle  of  that  lovely  trembling  ripple  of  accompaniment, 
until  the  late  moon  got  round  to  the  south  and  slanted  in 
between  the  white  dimity  curtains,  and  set  a  glimmering 
little  ghost  in  the  arm-chair. 

Ruth  came  down  late  to  breakfast. 

Barbara  was  pushing  back  her  chair. 

"  Mother,  —  or  anybody  !  Do  you  want  any  errand 
down  in  town  ?  I  'm  going  out  for  a  stramble.  A  party 
always  has  to  be  walked  off  next  morning." 

"  And  talked  off,  does  n't  it  ?  I  'm  afraid  my  errand 
would  need  to  be  with  Mrs.  Goldthwaite  or  Mrs.  Hadden, 
would  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  I  shall  go  in  and  see  Leslie.  Rosa 
mond,  why  can't  you  come  too  ?  It 's  a  sort  of  nuisance 
that  boy  having  come  home  ! " 

"  That  4  great  six-foot  lieutenant '  !  "  parodied  Rose. 

"  I  don't  care  !  You  said  feet  did  n't  signify.  And  he 
used  to  be  a  boy,  when  we  played  with  him  so." 

"  I  suppose  they  all  used  to  be,"  said  Rose,  demurely. 

"  Well,  I  won't  go  !  Because  the  truth  is  I  did  want 
to  see  him,  about  those  —  patent  rights.  I  dare  say  they  'H 
come  up." 

"  I  've  no  doubt,"  said  Rosamond. 

"I  wish  you  would  both  go  away  somewhere,"  said 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  53 

Ruth,  as  Mrs.  Holabird  gave  her  her  coffee.  "  Because  I 
and  mother  have  got  a  secret,  and  I  know  she  wants  her 
last  little  hot  corner  of  toast." 

"  I  think  you  are  likely  to  get  the  last  little  cold  corner," 
said  Mrs.  Holabird,  as  Ruth  sat,  forgetting  her  plate,  after 
the  other  girls  had  gone  away. 

"  I  'm  thinking,  mother,  of  a  real  warm  little  corner ! 
Something  that  would  just  fit  in  and  make  everything  so 
nice.  It  was  put  into  my  head  last  night,  and  I  think  it 
was  sent  on  purpose  ;  it  came  right  up  behind  me  so. 
Mrs.  Lewis  Marchbanks  and  Jeannie  Hadden  praised  my 
playing;  more  than  I  could  tell  you,  really;  and  Mrs. 
Marchbanks  wants  a  —  "Ruth  stopped,  and  laughed  at 
the  word  that  was  coming  —  "  Zac&/-teacher  for  Lily,  and 
so  does  Mrs.  Hadden  for  Reba.  There,  mother.  It 's  in 
your  head  now  !  Please  turn  it  over  with  a  nice  little 
think,  and  tell  me  you  would  just  as  lief,  and  that  you 
believe  perhaps  I  could  !  " 

By  this  time  Ruth  was  round  behind  Mrs.  Holabird's 
chair,  with  her  two  hands  laid  against  her  cheeks.  Mrs. 
Holabird  leaned  her  face  down  upon  one  of  the  hands, 
holding  it  so,  caressingly. 

"I  am  sure  you  could,  Ruthie.  But  I  am  sure  I 
wouldn't  just  as  lief!  I  would  liefer  you  should  have  all 
you  need  without." 

"  I  know  that,  mother.  But  it  wouldn't  be  half  so 
good  for  me  !  " 

"  That 's  something  horrid,  I  know  !  "  exclaimed  Bar 
bara,  coming  in  upon  the  last  word.  "  It  always  is,  when 
people  talk  about  its  being  good  for  them.  It 's  sure  to 
be  salts  or  senna,  and  most  likely  both." 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

"  O  dear  me  !  "  said  Ruth,  suddenly  seized  with  a  i.ew 
perception  of  difficulty.  Until  now,  she  had  only  been 
considering  whether  she  could,  and  if  Mrs.  Holabird  would 
approve.  "Don't  you  — or  Rose  — call  it  names,  Bar 
bara,  please,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Which  of  us  are  you  most  afraid  of?  For  Rosa 
mond's  salts  and  senna  are  different  from  mine,  pretty 
often.  I  guess  it 's  hers  this  time,  by  your  putting  her  in 
that  anxious  parenthesis." 

"  I  'm  afraid  of  your  fun,  Barbara,  and  I  'm  afraid  of 
Rosamond's  —  " 

u  Earnest  ?     Well,  that  is  much  the  more  frightful.     It 
is  so  awfully  quiet  and  pretty-behaved  and  positive.     But 
if  you  're  going  to  retain  me  on  your  side,  you  '11  have  to 
lay  the  case  before  me,  you  know,  and  give  me  a  fee. 
You  need  n't  stand  there,  bribing  the  judge  beforehand." 
Ruth  turned  right  round  and  kissed  Barbara. 
"I  want  you  to  go  with  me  and  see  if  Mrs.  Hadden 
and    Mrs.    Lewis    Marchbanks  would  let   me   teach  the 
children." 

"  Teach  the  children  !     What?  " 

"  O,  music,  of  course.  That 's  all  I  know,  pretty  much. 
And  —  make  Rose  understand." 

"  Ruth,  you  're  a  duck  I  I  like  you  for  it !  But  I  'm 
not  sure  I  like  #." 

"  Will  you  do  just  those  two  things  ?  " 
"  It 's  a  beautiful  programme.  But  suppose  we  leave 
out  the  first  part  ?  I  think  you  could  do  that  alone.  It 
would  spoil  it  if  I  went.  It 's  such  a  nice  little  spontane 
ous  idea  of  your  own,  you  see.  But  if  we  made  it  a  reg 
ular  family  delegation  —  besides,  it  will  take  as  much  as 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY.  55 

all  me  to  manage  the  second.  Rosamond  is  very  ele 
gant  to-day.  Last  night's  twilight  is  n't  over.  And  it  's 
funny  we  've  plans  too  ;  we  're  going  to  give  lessons,  — 
differently ;  we  're  going  to  lead  off,  for  once,  —  we  Hol- 
abirds ;  and  I  don't  know  exactly  how  the  music  will 
chime  in.  It  may  make  things  —  Holabirdy." 

Rosamond  had  true  perceptions,  and  she  was  consci 
entious.  What  she  said,  therefore,  when  she  was  told, 
was,  — 

"  O  dear  !  I  suppose  it  is  right !  But  — just  now  ! 
Right  things  do  come  in  so  terribly  askew,  like  good  old 
Mr.  Isosceles,  sidling  up  the  broad  aisle  of  a  Sunday ! 
Could  n't  you  wait  awhile,  Ruth  ?  " 

"  And  then  somebody  else  would  get  the  chance." 

"  There  's  nobody  else  to  be  had." 

"  Nobody  knows  till  somebody  starts  up.  They  don't 
know  there  's  me  to  be  had  yet." 

"  O  Ruth  !     Don't  offer  to  teach  grammar,  anyhow  ! " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  might.  I  should  n't  teach  it  '  any 
how.'  " 

Ruth  went  off,  laughing,  happy.  She  knew  she  had 
gamed  the  home-half  of  her  point. 

Her  heart  beat  a  good  deal,  though,  when  she  went  into 
Mrs.  Marchbanks's  library  alone,  and  sat  waiting  for  the 
lady  to  come  down. 

She  would  rather  have  gone  to  Mrs.  Hadden  first,  who 
was  very  kind  and  old-fashioned,  and  not  so  overpower- 
ingly  grand.  But  she  had  her  justification  for  her  attempt 
from  Mrs.  Marchbanks's  own  lips,  and  she  must  take  up 
her  opportunity  as  it  came  to  her,  following  her  clew  right 
end  first.  She  meant  simply  to  tell  Mrs.  Marchbanks  hovtf 
she  had  happened  to  think  of  it. 


V 

56  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  the  great  lady,  graciously,  won 
dering  not  a  little  what  had  brought  the  child,  in  this  un 
ceremonious  early  fashion,  to  ask  for  her. 

"  I  came,7'  said  Ruth,  after  she  had  answered  the  good 
morning,  "  because  I  heard  what  you  were  so  kind  as  to 
say  last  night  about  liking  my  playing ;  and  that  you  had 
nobody  just  now  to  teach  Lily.  I  thought,  perhaps,  you 
might  be  willing  to  try  me  ;  for  I  should  like  to  do  it,  and 
I  think  I  could  show  her  all  I  know  ;  and  then  I  could 
take  lessons  myself  of  Mr.  Viertelnote.  I  've  been  think 
ing  about  it  all  night." 

Ruth  Holabird  had  a  direct  little  fashion  of  going 
straight  through  whatever  crust  of  outside  appearance  to 
that  which  must  respond  to  what  she  had  at  the  moment 
in  herself.  She  had  real  self-possession  ;  because  she  did 
not  let  herself  be  magnetized  into  a  false  consciousness  of 
somebody  else's  self,  and  think  and  speak  according  to 
their  notions  of  things,  or  her  reflected  notion  of  what 
they  would  think  of  her.  She  was  different  from  Rosa 
mond  in  this ;  Rosamond  could  not  help  feeling  her 
double,  —  Mrs.  Grundy's  "idea"  of  her.  That  was  what 
Rosamond  said  herself  about  it,  when  Ruth  told  it  all  at 
home. 

The  response  is  almost  always  there  to  those  who  go  for 
it ;  if  it  is  not,  there  is  no  use  any  way. 

Mrs.  Marchbanks  smiled. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Holabird  know  ?  " 

"  O  yes  ;  she  always  knows." 

There  was  a  little  distance  and  a  touch  of  business  in 
Mrs.  Marchbanks's  manner  after  this.  The  child's  own 
impulse  had  been  very  frank  and  amusing  ;  an  authorized 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  57 

seeking  of  employment  was  somewhat  different.  Still, 
she  was  kind  enough ;  the  impression  had  been  made  ; 
perhaps  Rosamond,  with  her  "just  now"  feeling,  would 
have  been  sensitive  to  what  did  not  touch  Ruth,  at  the 
moment,  at  all. 

"  But  you  see,  my  dear,  that  your  having  a  pupil  could 
not  be  quite  equal  to  Mr.  Viertelnote's  doing  the  same 
thing.  I  mean  the  one  would  not  quite  provide  for  the 
other." 

"  O  no,  indeed !  I  'm  in  hopes  to  have  two.  I  mean 
to  go  and  see  Mrs.  Hadden  about  Reba ;  and  then  I  might 
begin  first,  you  know.  If  I  could  teach  two  quarters,  I 
could  take  one." 

"  You  have  thought  it  all  over.  You  are  quite  a  little 
business  woman.  Now  let  us  see.  I  do  like  your  play 
ing,  Ruth.  I  think  you  have  really  a  charming  style. 
But  whether  you  could  impart  it,  —  that  is  a  different 
capacity." 

u  I  am  pretty  good  at  showing  how,"  said  Ruth.  u  I 
think  I  could  make  her  understand  all  I  do." 

u  Well ;  I  should  be  willing  to  pay  twenty  dollars  a 
quarter  to  any  lady  who  would  bring  Lily  forward  to 
where  you  are  ;  if  you  can  do  it,  I  will  pay  it  to  you. 
If  Mrs.  Hadden  will  do  the  same,  you  will  have  two 
thirds  of  Viertelnote's  price." 

"  0,  that  is  so  nice  !  "  said  Ruth,  gratefully.  "  Then 
in  half  a  quarter  I  could  begin.  And  perhaps  in  that 
time  I  might  get  another." 

"  I  shall  be  exceedingly  interested  in  your  getting 
on,"  said  Mrs.  Marchbanks,  as  Ruth  arose  to  go.  She 
said  it  very  much  as  she  might  have  said  it  to  anybody 


58  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

who  was  going  to  try  to  earn  money,  and  whom  she 
meant  to  patronize.  But  Ruth  took  it  singly ;  she  was 
not  two  persons,  —  one  who  asked  for  work  and  pay,  and 
another  who  expected  to  be  treated  as  if  she  were  privi 
leged  above  either.  She  was  quite  intent  upon  her  pur 
pose. 

If  Mrs.  Marchbanks  had  been  patron  kind,  Mrs.  Had- 
den  was  motherly  so. 

"  You  're  a  dear  little  thing  !  When  will  you  begin  ?  " 
said  she. 

Ruth's  morning  was  a  grand  success.  She  came  home 
with  a  rapid  step,  springing  to  a  soundless  rhythm. 

She  found  Rosamond  and  Barbara  and  Harry  Gold- 
thwaite  on  the  piazza,  winding  the  rope  rings  with  blue 
and  scarlet  and  white  and  purple,  and  tying  them  with 
knots  of  ribbon. 

Harry  had  been  prompt  enough.  He  had  got  the  rope, 
and  spliced  it  up  himself,  that  morning,  and  had  brought 
the  ten  rings  over,  hanging  upon  his  arms  like  bangles. 

They  were  still  busy  when  dinner  was  ready ;  and  Harry 
stayed  at  the  first  asking. 

It  was  a  scrub-day  in  the  kitchen  ;  and  Katty  came  in 
to  take  the  plates  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  a  smooch  of 
stove-polish  across  her  arm,  and  a  very  indiscriminate- 
colored  apron.  She  put  one  plate  upon  another  in  a  hur 
ry,  over  knives  and  forks  and  remnants,  clattered  a  good 
deal,  and  dropped  the  salt-spoons. 

Rosamond  colored  and  frowned ;  but  talked  with  a  most 
resolutely  beautiful  repose. 

Afterward,  when  it  was  all  over,  and  Harry  had  gone, 
promising  to  come  next  day  and  bring  a  stake,  painted 


WE  GIRLS:  A  HOME  STORY.  59 

vermilion  and  white,  with  a  little  gilt  ball  on  the  top  of  it, 
she  sat  by  the  ivied  window  in  the  brown  room  with  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"It  is  dreadful  to  live  so  ! "  she  said,  with  real  feeling. 
"  To  have  just  one  wretched  girl  to  do  everything !  " 

"  Especially ,"  said  Barbara,  without  much  mercy,  "  when 
she  always  will  do  it  at  dinner- time." 

"  It 's  the  betwixt  and  between  that  I  can't  bear,"  said 
Rose.  "  To  have  to  do  with  people  like  the  Penningtons 
and  the  Marchbankses,  and  to  see  their  ways  ;  to  sit  at 
tables  where  there  is  noiseless  and  perfect  serving,  and  to 
know  that  they  think  it  is  the  '  mainspring  of  life  '  (that 's 
just  what  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  said  about  it  the  other  day)  ; 
and  then  to  have  to  hitch  on  so  ourselves,  knowing  just 
as  wrell  what  ought  to  be  as  she  does,  —  it  's  too  bad.  It 's 
double  dealing.  I  'd  rather  not  know,  or  pretend  any 
better.  I  do  wish  we  belonged  somewhere  !  " 

Ruth  felt  sorry.  She  always  did  when  Rosamond  was 
hurt  with  these  things.  She  knew  it  came  from  a  very 
pure,  nice  sense  of  what  was  beautiful,  and  a  thoroughness 
of  desire  for  it.  She  knew  she  wanted  it  every  day,  and 
that  nobody  hated  shams,  or  company  contrivances,  more 
heartily.  She  took  great  trouble  for  it ;  so  that  when 
they  were  quite  alone,  and  Rosamond  could  manage, 
things  often  went  better  than  when  guests  came  and  di 
vided  her  attention. 

Ruth  went  over  to  where  she  sat. 

"  Rose,  perhaps  we  do  belong  just  here.  Somebody  has 
got  to  be  in  the  shading-off,  you  know.  That  helps  both 
ways." 

"  It 's  a  miserable  mdefmiteness,  though." 


60  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  No,  it  is  n't,"  said  Barbara,  quickly.  "  It's  a  good 
plan,  and  I  like  it.  Ruth  just  hits  it.  I  see  now  what 
they  mean  by  '  drawing  lines.'  You  can't  draw  them  any 
where  but  in  the  middle  of  the  stripes.  And  people  that 
are  right  in  the  middle  have  to  '  toe  the  mark.'  It 's  the 
edge,  after  all.  You  can  reach  a  great  deal  farther  by  be 
ing  betwixt  and  between.  And  one  girl  need  n't  always 
be  black-leaded,  nor  drop  all  the  spoons." 


WE   GIKLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


NEXT    THINGS. 

OSAMOND'S  ship-coil  party  was 
a  great  success.  It  resolved  it 
self  into  Rosamond's  party,  al 
though  Barbara  had  had  the  first 
thought  of  it;  for  Rosamond 
quietly  took  the  management  of 
all  that  was  to  be  delicately  and 
gracefully  arranged,  and  to  have 
the  true  tone  of  high  propriety. 

Barbara  made  the  little  white 
rolls  ;  Rosamond  and  Ruth  beat 
up  the  cake  ;  mother  attended  to 
the  boiling  of  the  tongues,  and, 
when  it  was  time,  to  the  making 
of  the  delicious  coffee ;  all  to 
gether  we  gave  all  sorts  of  pleas 
ant  touches  to  the  brown  room, 
and  set  the  round  table  (the  old 
cover  could  be  "  shied  "  out  of  sight  now,  as  Stephen  said, 
and  replaced  with  the  white  glistening  damask  for  the  tea) 
in  the  corner  between  the  southwest  windows  that  opened 
upon  the  broad  piazza. 

The  table  was  bright  with  pretty  silver  —  not  too  much 


62  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

• —  and  best  glass  and  delicate  porcelain  with  a  tiny  thread 
of  gold ;  and  the  rolls  and  the  thin  strips  of  tongue  cut 
lengthwise,  so  rich  and  tender  that  a  fork  could  manage 
them,  and  the  large  raspberries,  black  and  red  and  white, 
were  upon  plates  and  dishes  of  real  Indian,  white  and 
golden  brown. 

The  wide  sashes  were  thrown  up,  and  there  were  light 
chairs  outside ;  Mrs.  Holabird  would  give  the  guests  tea 
and  coffee,  and  Ruth  and  Barbara  would  sit  in  the  window- 
seats  and  do  the  waiting,  back  and  forth,  and  Dakie 
Thayne  and  Harry  Goldthwaite  would  help. 

Katty  held  her  office  as  a  sinecure  that  day ;  looked  on 
admiringly,  forgot  half  her  regular  work,  felt  as  if  she  had 
somehow  done  wonders  without  realizing  the  process,  and 
pronounced  that  it  was  "  no  throuble  at  ahl  to  have  com 
pany." 

But  before  the  tea  was  the  new  game. 

It  was  a  bold  stroke  for  us  Holabird  s.  Originating  was 
usually  done  higher  up  ;  as  the  Papal  Council  gives  forth 
new  spiritual  inventions  for  the  joyful  acceptance  of  be 
lievers,  who  may  by  no  means  invent  in  their  turn  and 
offer  to  the  Council.  One  could  hardly  tell  how  it  would 
fall  out,  —  whether  the  Haddens  and  the  Marchbankses 
would  take  to  it,  or  whether  it  would  drop  right  there. 

"  They  may  6  take  it  off  your  hands,  my  dear,'  "  sug 
gested  the  remorseless  Barbara.  Somebody  had  offered 
to  do  that  once  for  Mrs.  Holabird,  when  her  husband  had 
had  an  interest  in  a  ship  in  the  Baltic  trade,  and  some  furs 
had  come  home,  richer  than  we  had  quite  expected. 

Rose  was  loftily  silent ;  she  would  not  have  said  that  to 
her  very  self;  but  she  had  her  little  quiet  instincts  of 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  63 

holding  on,  —  through  Harry  Goldthwaite,  chiefly;  it 
was  his  novelty. 

Does  this  seem  very  bare  worldly  scheming  among 
young  girls  who  should  simply  have  been  having  a  good 
time  ?  We  should  not  tell  you  if  we  did  not  know ;  it 
begins  right  there  among  them,  in  just  such  things  as  these ; 
and  our  day  and  our  life  are  full  of  it. 

The  Marchbanks  set  had  a  way  of  taking  things  off 
people's  hands,  as  soon  as  they  were  proved  worth  while. 
People  like  the  Holabirds  could  not  be  taking  this  pains 
every  day ;  making  their  cakes  and  their  coffee,  and  setting 
their  tea-table  in  their  parlor  ;  putting  aside  all  that  was 
shabby  or  inadequate,  for  a  few  special  hours,  and  turning 
all  the  family  resources  upon  a  point,  to  serve  an  occasion. 
But  if  anything  new  or  bright  were  so  produced  that 
could  be  transplanted,  it  was  so  easy  to  receive  it  among 
the  established  and  every-day  elegances  of  a  freer  living, 
give  it  a  wider  introduction,  and  so  adopt  and  repeat  and 
centralize  it  that  the  originators  should  fairly  forget  they 
had  ever  begun  it.  And  why  would  not  this  be  honor 
enough  ?  Invention  must  always  pass  over  to  the  capital 
that  can  handle  it. 

The  new  game  charmed  them  all.  The  girls  had  the 
best  of  it,  for  the  young  men  always  gathered  up  the  rings 
and  brought  them  to  each  in  turn.  It  was  very  pretty  to 
receive  both  hands  full  of  the  gayly  wreathed  and  knotted 
hoops,  to  hold  them  slidden  along  one  arm  like  garlands, 
to  pass  them  lightly  from  hand  to  hand  again,  and  to  toss 
them  one  by  one  through  the  air  with  a  motion  of  more  or 
less  inevitable  grace ;  and  the  excitement  of  hope  or  of 
success  grew  with  each  succeeding  trial. 


64  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

They  could  not  help  liking  it,  even  the  most  fastidious ; 
they  might  venture  upon  liking  it,  for  it  was  a  game  with 
an  origin  and  references.  It  was  an  officers'  game,  on 
board  great  naval  ships  ;  it  had  proper  and  sufficient  ante 
cedents.  It  would  do. 

By  the  time  they  stopped  playing  in  the  twilight,  and 
went  up  the  wide  end  steps  upon  the  deep,  open  platform, 
where  coffee  and  biscuits  began  to  be  fragrant,  Rosamond 
knew  that  her  party  was  as  nice  as  if  it  had  been  any 
body's  else  whoever  ;  that  they  were  all  having  as  gen 
uinely  good  a  time  as  if  they  had  not  come  "  westover" 
to  get  it. 

And  everybody  does  like  a  delicious  tea,  such  as  is  far 
more  sure  and  very  different  from  hands  like  Mrs.  Hola- 
bird's  and  her  daughters,  than  from  those  of  a  city  confec 
tioner  and  the  most  professed  of  private  cooks. 

It  all  went  off  and  ended  in  a  glory,  —  the  glory  of  the 
sun  pouring  great  backward  floods  of  light  and  color  all 
up  to  the  summer  zenith,  and  of  the  softly  falling  and 
changing  shade,  and  the  slow  forth-coming  of  the  stars : 
and  Ruth  gave  them  music,  and  by  and  by  they  had  a 
little  German,  out  there  on  the  long,  wide  esplanade.  It 
was  the  one  magnificence  of  their  house,  —  this  high,  spa 
cious  terrace  ;  Rosamond  was  thankful  every  day  that 
Grandfather  Holabird  had  to  build  the  wood-house  under 
it. 

After  this,  Westover  began  to  grow  to  be  more  of  a 
centre  than  our  home,  cheery  and  full  of  girl-life  as  it 
was,  had  ever  been  able  to  become  before. 

They  might  have  transplanted  the  game, — they  did 
take  slips  from  it,  —  and  we  might  not  always  have  had 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  65 

tickets  to  our  own  play ;  but  they  could  not  transplant 
Harry  Goldthwaite  and  Dakie  Thayne.  They  would 
come  over,  nearly  every  day,  at  morning  or  evening,  and 
practise  u  coil,"  or  make  some  other  plan  or  errand  ;  and 
so  there  came  to  be  always  something  going  on  at  the 
Holabirds',  and  if  the  other  girls  wanted  it,  they  had  to 
come  where  it  was. 

Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  came  often ;  Rosamond  grew  very 
intimate  with  her. 

Mrs.  Lewis  Marchbanks  did  say,  one  day,  that  she 
thought  "  the  Holabirds  were  slightly  mistaking  their 
position  "  ;  but  the  remark  did  not  come  round,  westover, 
till  long  afterward,  and  meanwhile  the  position  remained 
the  same. 

It  was  right  in  the  midst  of  all  this  that  Ruth  aston 
ished  the  family  again,  one  evening. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  suddenly,  just  as  if  she  were  not 
suggesting  something  utterly  incongruous  and  disastrous, 
"  that  we  could  ask  Lucilla  Waters  up  here  for  a  little 
visit." 

The  girls  had  a  way,  in  Z — ,  of  spending  two  or  three 
days  together  at  each  other's  houses,  neighbors  though 
they  were,  within  easy  reach,  and  seeing  each  other 
almost  constantly.  Leslie  Goldthwaite  came  up  to  the 
Haddens',  or  they  went  down  to  the  Goldthwaites'.  The 
Haddens  would  stay  over  night  at  the  Marchbanks',  and 
on  through  the  next  day,  and  over  night  again.  There 
were,  indeed,  three  recognized  degrees  of  intimacy :  that 
which  took  tea,  —  that  which  came  in  of  a  morning  and 
stayed  to  lunch,  —  and  that  which  was  kept  over  night 
without  plan  or  ceremony.  It  had  never  been  very  easy 


66  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

for  us  Holabirds  to  do  such  things  without  plan ;  of  all 
things,  nearly,  in  the  world,  it  seemed  to  us  sometimes 
beautiful  and  desirable  to  be  able  to  live  just  so  as  that 
we  might. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Ruth,  "  that  we  could  have  Lucilla 
Waters  here." 

"  My  gracious  !  "  cried  Rosamond,  startled  into  a  soft 
explosion.  "  What  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  think  she  'd  like  it,"  answered  Ruth. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  Arctura  Fish  might  '  like  it '  too," 
responded  Rose,  in  a  deadly  quiet  way  now,  that  was  the 
extreme  of  sarcasm. 

Ruth  looked  puzzled  ;  as  if  she  really  considered  what 
Rosamond  suggested,  not  having  thought  of  it  before,  and 
not  quite  knowing  how  to  dispose  of  the  thought  since  she 
had  got  it. 

Dakie  Thayne  was  there  ;  he  sat  holding  some  gold- 
colored  wool  for  Mrs.  Holabird  to  wind ;  she  was  giving 
herself  the  luxury  of  some  pretty  knitting,  —  making  a 
bright  little  sofa  affghan.  Ruth  had  forgotten  him  at  the 
instant,  speaking  out  of  a  quiet  pause  and  her  own  intent 
thought. 

She  made  up  her  mind  presently,  — partly  at  least,  — 
and  spoke  again.  "  I  don't  believe,"  she  said,  u  that  it 
would  be  the  next  thing  for  Arctura  Fish." 

Dakie  Thayne's  eyebrows  went  up,  just  that  half  per 
ceptible  line  or  two.  "  Do  you  think  people  ought  always 
to  have  the  next  thing  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  seems  to  me  it  must  be  somebody's  fault  if  they 
don't,"  replied  Ruth. 

"  It  is  a  long  waiting  sometimes  to  get  the  next  thing," 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  67 

said  Dakie  Thayne.     "  Army  men  find  that  out.     They 
grow  gray  getting  it." 

-"That 's  where  only  one  can  have  it  at  a  time,"  said 
Ruth.     "  These  things  are  different." 

"  '  Next  things '  interfere  occasionally,"  said  Barbara. 
"Next  things  up,  and  next  things  down." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rose,  serenely  unconscious  and 
impersonal.  "  I  suppose  people  would  n't  naturally  —  it 
can't  be  meant  they  should  —  walk  right  away  from  their 
own  opportunities." 

Ruth  laughed,  —  not  aloud,  only  a  little  single  breath, 
over  her  work. 

Dakie  Thayne  leaned  back. 

"  What,  —  if  you  please,  —  Miss  Ruth  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  opportunities  down"  Ruth 
answered. 

It  was  several  days  after  this  that  the  young  party 
drifted  together  again,  on  the  Westover  lawn.  A  plan 
was  discussed.  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  had  walked  over  with 
Olivia  and  Adelaide  Marchbanks,  and  it  was  she  who 
suggested  it. 

"  Why  don't  you  have  regular  practisings,"  said  she, 
"  and  then  a  meeting,  for  this  and  the  archery  you  want 
ed  to  get  up,  and  games  for  a  prize  ?  They  would  do 
nicely  together." 

Olivia  Marchbanks  drew  up  a  little.  She  had  not 
meant  to  launch  the  project  here.  Everything  need  not 
begin  at  Westover  all  at  once. 

But  Dakie  Thayne  broke  in. 

"Did  you  think  of  that?"  said  he.  "It's  a  capital 
idea." 


68  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  Ideas  are  rather  apt  to  be  that,"  said  Adelaide  March- 
banks.  "  It  is  the  carrying  out,  you  see." 

"  Is  n't  it  pretty  nearly  carried  out  already  ?  It  is 
only  to  organize  what  we  are  doing  as  it  is." 

"  But  the  minute  you  do  organize  !  You  don't  know 
how  difficult  it  is  in  a  place  like  this.  A  dozen  of  us  are 
not  enough,  and  as  soon  as  you  go  beyond,  there  gets  to 
be  too  much  of  it.  One  does  n't  know  where  to  stop." 

"Or  to  skip  ?  "  asked  Harry  Goldthwaite,  in  such  a 
purely  bright,  good-natured  way  that  no  one  could  take 
it  amiss. 

"  Well,  yes,  to  skip,"  said  Adelaide.  "  Of  course  that 's 
it.  You  don't  go  straight  on,  you  know,  house  by  house, 
when  you  ask  people,  —  down  the  hill  and  into  the  town." 

"  We  talked  it  over,"  said  Olivia.  "  And  we  got  as 
far  as  the  Hobarts."  There  Olivia  stopped.  That  was 
where  they  had  stopped  before. 

"  O  yes,  the  Hobarts ;  they  would  be  sure  to  like  it," 
said  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  quick  and  pleased. 

"  Her  ups  and  downs  are  just  like  yours,"  said  Dakie 
Thayne  to  Ruth  Holabird. 

It  made  Ruth  very  glad  to  be  told  she  was  at  all  like 
Leslie ;  it  gave  her  an  especially  quick  pulse  of  pleasure 
to  have  Dakie  Thayne  say  so.  She  knew  he  thought 
there  was  hardly  any  one  like  Leslie  Goldthwaite. 

"  O,  they  won't  exactly  do,  you  know  !  "  said  Adelaide 
Marchbanks,  with  an  air  of  high  free-masonry. 

"  Won't  do  what  ?  "  asked  Cadet  Thayne,  obtusely. 

"  Suit,"  replied  Olivia,  concisely,  looking  straight  for 
ward  without  any  air  at  all. 

"  Really,  we  have  tried  it  since  they  came,"  said  Ade- 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  69 

laide  ;  "  though  what  people  come  for  is  the  question,  I 
think,  when  there  is  n't  anything  particular  to  bring  them 
except  the  neighborhood,  and  then  it  has  to  be  Christian 
charity  in  the  neighborhood  that  did  n't  ask  them  to  pick 
them  up.  Mamma  called,  after  a  while ;  and  Mrs.  Hobart 
said  she  hoped  she  would  come  often,  and  let  the  girls  run 
in  and  be  sociable  !  And  Grace  Hobart  says  '  she  has  n't 
got  tired  of  croquet,  —  she  likes  it  real  well ! '  They  're 
that  sort  of  people,  Mr.  Thayne." 

"  Oh  !  that 's  very  bad,"  said  Dakie  Thayne,  with  grave 
conclusiveness. 

"  The  Haddens  had  them  one  night,  when  we  were 
going  to  play  commerce.  When  we  asked  them  up  to 
the  table,  they  held  right  back,  awfully  stiff,  and  could  n't 
find  anything  else  to  say  than,  —  out  quite  loud,  across 
everything,  — 4  O  no  !  they  could  n't  play  commerce  ; 
they  never  did  ;  father  thought  it  was  just  like  any  gam 
bling  game  ! ' 

"  Plucky,  anyhow,"  said  Harry  Goldthwaite. 

"  I  don't  think  they  meant  to  be  rude,"  said  Elinor 
Hadden.  "  I  think  they  really  felt  badly  ;  and  that  was 
why  it  blurted  right  out  so.  They  did  n't  know  what 
to  say." 

"  Evidently,"  said  Olivia.  "  And  one  does  n't  want 
to  be  astonished  in  that  way  very  often." 

"  I  should  n't  mind  having  them,"  said  Elinor,  good- 
naturedly.  "  They  are  kind-hearted  people,  and  they 
would  feel  hurt  to  be  left  out." 

"  That  is  just  what  stopped  us,"  said  Adelaide.  "  That 
is  just  what  the  neighborhood  is  getting  to  be,  —  full  of 
people  that  you  don't  know  what  to  do  with." 


70  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

u  I  don't  see  why  we  need  to  go  out  of  our  own  set,** 
said  Olivia. 

"  O  dear  !  O  dear  I  " 

It  broke  from  Ruth  involuntarily.  Then  she  colored  up, 
as  they  all  turned  round  upon  her  ;  but  she  was  excited, 
and  Ruth's  excitements  made  her  forget  that  she  was 
Ruth,  sometimes,  for  a  moment.  It  had  been  growing  in 
her,  from  the  beginning  of  the  conversation  ;  and  now  she 
caught  her  breath,  and  felt  her  eyes  light  up.  She  turned 
her  face  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite  ;  but  although  she  spoke 
low  she  spoke  somehow  clearly,  even  more  than  she 
meant,  so  that  they  all  heard. 

"  What  if  the  angels  had  said  that  before  they  came 
down  to  Bethlehem  !  " 

Then  she  knew  by  the  hush  that  she  had  astonished 
them,  and  she  grew  frightened  ;  but  she  stood  just  so,  and 
would  not  let  her  look  shrink  ;  for  she  still  felt  just  as  she 
did  when  the  words  came. 

Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  broke  the  pause  with  a  good-natured 
laugh. 

*'  We  can't  go  quite  back  to  that,  every  time,"  she  said. 
"And  we  don't  quite  set  up  to  be  angels.  Come, — 
try  one  more  round." 

And  with  some  of  the  hoops  still  hanging  upon  her  arm, 
she  turned  to  pick  up  the  others.  Harry  Goldthwaite  of 
course  sprang  forward  to  do  it  for  her  ;  and  presently  she 
was  tossing  them  with  her  peculiar  grace,  till  the  stake 
was  all  wreathed  with  them  from  bottom  to  top,  the  last 
hoop  hanging  itself  upon  the  golden  ball ;  a  touch  more 
dexterous  and  consummate,  it  seemed,  than  if  it  had  fairly 
slidden  over  upon  the  rest.' 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 


71 


was 


Rosamond  knew  what  a  cunning  and  friendly  turn  it 
if  it  had  not  been  for  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne,  Ruth's 
speech  would  have  broken  up  the  party.  As  it  was,  the 
game  began  again,  and  they  stayed  an  hour  longer. 

Not  all  of  them  ;  for  as  soon  as  they  were  fairly  engaged, 
Ruth  said  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  "I  must  go  now ;  I  ought 
to  have  gone  before.  Reba  will  be  waiting  for  me.  Just 
tell  them,  if  they  ask." 

But  Leslie  and  the  cadet  walked  away  with  her ;  slowly, 
across  the  grounds,  so  that  she  thought  they  were  going 
back  from  the  gate  ;  but  they  kept  on  up  over  the  hill. 

"  Was  it  very  shocking?  "  asked  Ruth,  troubled  in  her 


72  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

mind.     "  I  could  not  help  it ;  but  I  was  frightened  to  death 
the  next  minute." 

u  About  as  frightened  as  the  man  is  who  stands  to  his 
gun  in  the  front,"  said  Dakie  Thayne.  "You  never 
flinched. " 

"  They  would  have  thought  it  was  from  what  I  had 
said,"  Ruth  answered.  "  And  that  was  another  thing 
from  the  saying  " 

"  You  had  something  to  say,  Leslie.  It  was  just  on 
the  corner  of  your  lip.  I  saw  it." 

"  Yes ;  but  Ruth  said  it  all  in  one  flash.  It  would  have 
spoiled  it  if  I  had  spoken  then." 

"  I  'm  always  sorry  for  people  who  don't  know  how," 
said  Ruth.  "  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  myself  so  often." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  said  Leslie.  "  Why  should  n't  these 
girls  come  up  ?  And  how  will  they  ever,  unless  some 
body  overlooks  ?  They  would  find  out  these  mistakes  in 
a  little  while,  just  as  they  find  out  fashions :  picking  up 
the  right  things  from  people  who  do  know  how.  It  is  a 
kind  of  leaven,  like  greater  good.  And  how  can  we  stand 
anywhere  in  the  lump,  and  say  it  shall  not  spread  to  the 
next  particle  ?  " 

"  They  think  it  was  pushing  of  them,  to  come  here  to 
live  at  all,"  said  Ruth. 

"  Well,  we  're  all  pushing,  if  we  're  good  for  anything," 
said  Leslie.  "  Why  may  n't  they  push,  if  they  don't 
crowd  out  anybody  else  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  the  wrong 
sort  of  pushing  is  pushing  down." 

"  Only  there  would  be  no  end  to  it,"  said  Dakie  Thayne, 
"  would  there  ?  There  are  coarse,  vulgar  people  always, 
who  are  wanting  to  get  in  just  for  the  sake  of  being  in. 
What  are  the  nice  ones  to  do  ?  " 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  73 

"  Just  be  nice,  I  think,"  said  Leslie.  "  Nicer  with 
those  people  than  with  anybody  else  even.  If  there 
were  n't  any  difficulty  made  about  it,  —  if  there  were  n't 
any  keeping  out,  —  they  would  tire  of  the  niceness  prob 
ably  sooner  than  anything.  I  don't  suppose  it  is  the  fence 
that  keeps  out  weeds." 

"  You  are  just  like  Mrs.  Ingleside,"  said  Ruth,  walking 
closer  to  Leslie  as  she  spoke. 

u  And  Mrs.  Ingleside  is  like  Miss  Craydocke  ;  and  — 
I  did  n't  suppose  I  should  ever  find  many  more  of  them, 
but  they  're  counting  up,"  said  Dakie  Thayne.  "  There 's 
a  pretty  good  piece  of  the  world  salted,  after  all." 

"  If  there  really  is  any  best  society,"  pursued  Leslie, 
"  it  seems  to  me  it  ought  to  be,  not  for  keeping  people 
out,  but  for  getting  everybody  in  as  fast  as  it  can,  like  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  Ah,  but  that  is  kingdom  come,"  said  Dakie  Thayne. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  question  of  "  things  next  "  was  to 
arise  continually,  in  fresh  shapes,  just  now,  when  things 
next  for  the  Holabirds  were  nearer  next  than  ever  before. 

"  We  must  have  Delia  Waite  again  soon,  if  we  can  get 
her,"  said  mother,  one  morning,  when  we  were  all  quietly 
sitting  in  her  room,  and  she  was  cutting  out  some  shirts  for 
Stephen.  u  All  our  changes  and  interruptions  have  put 
back  the  sewing  so  lately." 

"  We  ought  not  to  have  been  idle  so  much,"  said  Bar 
bara.  "  We  've  been  a  family  of  grasshoppers  all  summer." 

"  Well,  the  grasshopping  has  done  you  all  good.  I  'm 
not  sorry  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird.  "  Only  we  must 
have  Delia  for  a  week  now,  and  be  busy." 

"  If  Delia  Waite  did  n't  have  to  come  to  our  table  !  " 
said  Rosamond. 


74  WE   GIRLS:     A   HOME   STORY. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  the  girl  Mrs.  Hadden  has,  mother? 
She  goes  right  into  the  kitchen  with  the  other  servants." 

"  I  don't  believe  our '  other  servants  '  would  know  what 
to  do  with  her,"  said  Barbara.  "  There  's  always  such  a 
crowd  in  our  kitchen." 

"  Barbara,  you  're  a  plague  !  " 

"  Yes.  I  'm  the  thorn  in  the  flesh  in  this  family,  lest  it 
should  be  exalted  above  measure  ;  and  like  Saint  Paul,  I 
magnify  mine  office." 

"  In  the  way  we  live,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird,  "  it  is  really 
more  convenient  to  let  a  seamstress  come  right  to  table 
with  us  ;  and  besides,  you  know  what  I  think  about  it. 
It  is  a  little  breath  of  life  to  a  girl  like  that ;  she  gets 
something  that  we  can  give  as  well  as  not,  and  that  helps 
her  up.  It  comes  naturally,  as  it  cannot  come  with  l  other 
servants.'  She  sits  with  us  all  day ;  her  work  is  among 
ladies,  and  with  them ;  she  gets  something  so  far,  even 
in  the  midst  of  measurings  and  gorings,  that  common 
housemaids  cannot  get ;  why  should  n't  she  be  with  us 
when  we  can  leave  off  talk  of  measures  and  gores,  and 
get  what  Ruth  calls  the  4  very  next '  ?  Delia  Waite  is 
too  nice  a  girl  to  be  put  into  the  kitchen  to  eat  with  Katty, 
in  her  '  crowd.'  " 

u  But  it  seems  to  set  us  down  ;  it  seems  common  in  us 
to  be  so  ready  to  be  familiar  with  common  people.  More 
in  us,  because  we  do  live  plainly.  If  Mrs.  Hadden  or 
Mrs.  Marchbanks  did  it,  it  might  seem  kind  without  the 
common.  I  think  they  ought  to  begin  such  things." 

"  But  then  if  they  don't  ?  Very  likely  it  would  be  far 
more  inconvenient  for  them  ;  and  not  the  same  good 
either,  because  it  would  be,  or  seem,  a  condescension. 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  75 

We  are  the  '  very  next,*  and  we  must  be  content  to  be 
the  step  we  are." 

"  It 's  the  other  thing  with  us,  —  con-ascension,  — » is  n't 
it,  mother  ?  A  step  up  for  somebody,  and  no  step  down 
for  anybody.  Mrs.  Ingleside  does  it,"  Ruth  added. 

"  O,  Mrs.  Ingleside  does  all  sorts  of  things.  She  has 
that  sort  of  position.  It 's  as  independent  as  the  other. 
High  moral  and  high  social  can  do  anything.  It 's  the 
betwixt  and  between  that  must  be  careful." 

"  What  a  miserably  negative  set  we  are,  in  such  a  posi 
tive  state  of  the  world  !  "  cried  Barbara.  "  Except  Ruth's 
music,  there  is  n't  a  specialty  among  us  ;  we  have  n't  any 
views  ;  we  're  on  the  mean-spirited  side  of  the  Woman 
Question  ;  '  all  woman,  and  no  question,'  as  mother  says  ; 
we  shall  never  preach,  nor  speech,  nor  leech ;  we  can't 
be  magnificent,  and  we  won't  be  common !  I  don't  see 
what  is  to  become  of  us,  unless  —  and  I  wonder  if  maybe 
that  is  n't  it  ?  —  we  just  do  two  or  three  rather  right 
things  in  a  no-particular  sort  of  a  way." 

"  Barbara,  how  nice  you  are  !  "  cried  Ruth. 

"  No.     I  'm  a  thorn.     Don't  touch  me." 

"  We  never  have  company  when  we  are  having  sewing 
done,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird.  "  We  can  always  manage 
that." 

"  I  don't  want  to  play  Box  and  Cox,"  said  Rosamond. 

"  That 's  the  beauty  of  you,  Rosa  Mundi !  "  said  Bar 
bara,   warmly.      "  You    don't  want    to   play   anything. 
That 's  where  you  'II  come  out  sun-clear  and  diamond 
bright  I " 


76 


WE    GIRLS:    A  HOME  STOBY. 


CHAPTER    V. 


THE  "BACK  YETT  AJEE. 

HOSE  who  do  not  like  common 
people  need  not  read  this  chap 
ter. 

We  had  Delia  Waite  the  next 
week.  It  happened  well,  in  a 
sort  of  Box-and-Cox  fashion  ; 
for  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  went  off 
with  some  friends  to  the  Isles 
of  Shoals,  and  Alice  and  Ade 
laide  Marchbanks  went  with 
her ;  so  that  we  knew  we  should 
see  nothing  of  the  two  great 
families  for  a  good  many  days ; 
and  when  Leslie  carne,  or  the 
Haddens,  we  did  not  so  much 
mind;  besides,  they  knew  that 
we  were  busy,  and  they  did  not 
expect  any  "coil"  got  up  for 

them.  Leslie  came  right  up  stairs,  when  she  was  alone  ; 
if  Harry  or  Mr.  Thayne  were  with  her,  one  of  us  would 
take  a  wristband  or  a  bit  of  ruffling,  and  go  down.  Some 
how,  if  it  happened  to  be  Harry,  Barbara  was  always 
tumultuously  busy,  and  never  offered  to  receive- ;  but  it 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  77 

always  ended  in  Rosamond's  making  her.  It  seemed  to 
be  one  of  the  things  that  people  wait  to  be  overcome  in 
their  objections  to. 

We  always  had  a  snug,  cosey  time  when  Delia  was  with 
us ;  we  were  all  simple  and  busy,  and  the  work  was  getting 
on ;  that  was  such  an  under-satisfaction ;  and  Delia  was 
having  such  a  good  time.  She  hardly  ever  failed  to  come 
to  us  when  we  wanted  her ;  she  could  always  make  some 
arrangement. 

Ruth  was  artful ;  she  tucked  in  Lucilla  Waters,  after 
all ;  she  said  it  would  be  such  a  nice  chance  to  have  her ; 
she  knew  she  would  rather  come  when  we  were  by  our 
selves,  and  especially  when  we  had  our  work  and  patterns 
about.  Lucilla  brought  a  sack  and  an  overskirt  to  make  ; 
she  could  hardly  have  been  spared  if  she  had  had  to  bring 
mere  idle  work.  S*he  sewed  in  gathers  upon  the  shirts  for 
mother,  while  Delia  cut  out  her  pretty  material  in  a  style 
she  had  not  seen.  If  we  had  had  grasshopper  parties  all 
summer  before,  this  was  certainly  a  bee*,  and  I  think  we 
all  really  liked  it  just  as  well  as  the  other. 

We  had  the  comfort  of  mother's  great,  airy  room,  now, 
as  we  had  never  even  realized  it  before.  Everybody  had 
a  window  to  sit  at ;  green-shaded  with  closed  blinds  for 
the  most  part ;  but  that  is  so  beautiful  in  summer,  when 
the  out-of-doors  comes  brimming  in  with  scent  and  sound, 
and  we  know  how  glorious  it  is  if  we  choose  to  open  to  it, 
and  how  glorious  it  is  going  to  be  when  we  do  throw  all 
wide  in  the  cooling  afternoon. 

"  How  glad  I  am  we  have  to  have  busy  weeks  some 
times  !  "  said  Ruth,  stopping  the  little  u  common-sense  " 
for  nn  instant,  while  she  tossed  a  long  flouncing  over  her 


78  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

sewing-table.  u  I  know  now  why  people  who  never  do 
their  own  work  are  obliged  to  go  away  from  home  for  a 
change.  It  must  be  dreadfully  same  if  they  did  n't.  I 
like  a  book  full  of  different  stories  !  " 

Lucilla  Waters  lives  down  in  the  heart  of  the  town. 
So  does  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  to  be  sure  ;  but  then  Mr. 
Goldthwaite's  is  one  of  the  old,  old-fashioned  houses  that 
were  built  when  the  town  was  country,  and  that  has  its 
great  yard  full  of  trees  and  flowers  around  it  now ;  and 
Mrs.  Waters  lives  in  a  block,  flat-face  to  the  street,  with 
nothing  pretty  outside,  and  not  very  much  in  ;  for  they 
have  never  been  rich,  the  Waterses,  and  Mr.  Waters  died 
ten  years  ago,  when  Lucilla  was  a  little  child.  Lucilla 
and  her  mother  keep  a  little  children's  school ;  but  it  was 
vacation  now,  of  course. 

Lucilla  is  in  Mrs.  Ingleside's  Bible-class  ;  that  is  how 
Ruth,  and  then  the  rest  of  us,  came  to  know  her.  Arctura 
Fish  is  another  of  Mrs.  Ingleside's  scholars.  She  is  a  poor 
girl,  living  at  service,  —  or,  rather,  working  in  a  family 
for  board,  clothing,  and  a  little  "  schooling,"  —  the  best  of 
which  last  she  gets  on  Sundays  of  Mrs.  Ingleside,  —  until 
she  shall  have  "  learned  how,"  and  be  u  worth  wages." 

Arctura  Fish  is  making  herself  up,  slowly,  after  the 
pattern  of  Lucilla  Waters.  She  would  not  undertake 
Leslie  Goldthwaite  or  Helen  Josselyn,  —  Mrs.  Ingleside's 
younger  sister,  who  stays  with  her  so  much,  —  or  even 
our  quiet  Ruth.  But  Lucilla  Waters  comes  just  next. 
She  can  just  reach  up  to  her.  She  can  see  how  she  does 
up  her  hair,  in  something  approaching  the  new  way,  lean 
ing  back  behind  her  in  the  class  and  tracing  out  the  twists 
between  the  questions  ;  for  Lucilla  can  only  afford  to  use 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  79 

iier  own,  and  a  few  strands  of  harmless  Berlin  wool  under 
it ;  she  can't  buy  coils  and  braids  and  two-dollar  rats,  or 
intricacies  ready  made  up  at  the  —  upholsterer's,  I  was 
going  to  say.  So  it  is  not  a  hopeless  puzzle  and  an  im 
practicable  achievement  to  little  Arctura  Fish.  It  is  won 
derful  how  nice  she  has  made  herself  look  lately,  and  how 
many  little  ways  she  puts  on,  just  like  Lucilla's.  She 
has  n't  got  beyond  mere  mechanical  copying,  yet ;  when 
she  reaches  to  where  Lucilla  really  is,  she  will  take  in 
differently. 

Ruth  gave  up  her  little  white  room  to  Delia  Waite,  and 
went  to  sleep  with  Lucilla  in  the  great,  square  east  room. 

Delia  Waite  thought  a  great  deal  of  this  ;  and  it  was 
wonderful  how  nobody  could  ever  get  a  peep  at  the  room 
when  it  looked  as  if  anything  in  it  had  been  used  or 
touched.  Ruth  is  pretty  nice  about  it ;  but  she  cannot 
keep  it  so  sacredly  fair  and  pure  as  Delia  did  for  her. 
Only  one  thing  showed. 

"  I  say,"  said  Stephen,  one  morning,  sliding  by  Ruth 
on  the  stair-rail  as  they  came  down  to  breakfast,  "  do  you 
look  after  that  piousosity,  now,  mornings  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Ruth,  laughing,  "  of  course  I  can't." 

"  It 's  always  whopped,"  said  Stephen,  sententiously. 

Barbara  got  up  some  of  her  special  cookery  in  these 
days.  Not  her  very  finest,  out  of  Miss  Leslie  ;  she  said 
that  was  too  much  like  the  fox  and  the  crane,  when  Lu 
cilla  asked  for  the  receipts.  It  was  n't  fair  to  give  a  taste 
of  things  that  we  ourselves  could  only  have  for  very  best, 
and  send  people  home  to  wish  for  them.  But  she  made 
some  of  her  "  griddles  trimmed  with  lace,"  as  only  Bar 
bara's  griddles  were  trimmed ;  the  brown  lightness  run- 


80  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

ning  out  at  the  edges  into  crisp  filigree.  And  another 
time  it  was  the  flaky  spider-cake,  turned  just  as  it  blushed 
golden-tawny  over  the  coals  ;  and  then  it  was  breakfast 
potato,  beaten  almost  frothy  with  one  white- of-egg,  a 
pretty  good  bit  of  butter,  a  few  spoonfuls  of  top-of-the- 
milk,  and  seasoned  plentifully  with  salt,  and  delicately 
with  pepper,  —  the  oven  doing  the  rest,  and  turning  it 
into  a  snowy  souffle*. 

Barbara  said  we  had  none  of  us  a  specialty ;  she  knew 
better  ;  only  hers  was  a  very  womanly  and  old-fashioned, 
not  to  say  kitcheny  one  ;  and  would  be  quite  at  a  discount 
when  the  grand  co-operative  kitchens  should  come  into 
play ;  for  who  cares  to  put  one's  genius  into  the  universal 
and  indiscriminate  mouth,  or  make  potato-souffle's  to  be 
carried  half  a  mile  to  the  table  ? 

Barbara  delighted  to  "  make  company  "  of  seamstress 
week  ;  "  it  was  so  nice,"  she  said,  "  to  entertain  some 
body  who  thought  '  chickings  was  'evingly.' ' 

Rosamond  liked  that  part  of  it ;  she  enjoyed  giving 
pleasure  no  less  than  any  ;  but  she  had  a  secret  misgiving 
that  we  were  being  very  vulgarly  comfortable  in  an  un 
derhand  way.  She  would  never,  by  any  means,  go  off  by 
herself  to  eat  with  her  fingers. 

Delia  Waite  said  she  never  came  to  our  house  that  she 
did  not  get  some  new  ideas  to  carry  home  to  Arabel. 

Arabel  Waite  was  fifty  years  old,  or  more  ;  she  was 
the  oldest  child  of  one  marriage  and  Delia  the  youngest 
of  another.  All  the  Waites  between  them  had  dropped 
away,  —  out  of  the  world,  or  into  homes  here  and  there 
of  their  own,  —  and  Arabel  and  Delia  were  left  together 
in  the  square,  low,  gambrel-roofed  house  over  on  the  other 
hill,  where  the  town  ran  up  small. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  81 

Arabel  Waite  was  an  old  dressmaker.  She  could  make 
two  skirts  to  a  dress,  one  shorter,  the  other  longer ;  and 
she  could  cut  out  the  upper  one  by  any  new  paper  pattern ; 
and  she  could  make  shell-trimmings  and  flutings  and  box- 
plaitings  and  flouncings,  and  sew  them  on  exquisitely, 
even  now,  with  her  old  eyes  ;  but  she  never  had  adapted 
herself  to  the  modern  ideas  of  the  corsage.  She  could  not 
fit  a  bias  to  save  her  life  ;  she  could  only  stitch  up  a 
straight  slant,  and  leave  the  rest  to  nature  and  fate.  So 
all  her  people  had  the  squarest  of  wooden  fronts,  and  were 
preternaturally  large  around  the  waist.  Delia  sewed 
with  her,  abroad  and  at  home,  —  abroad  without  her, 
also,  as  she  was  doing  now  for  us.  A  pattern  for  a  sleeve, 
or  a  cape,  or  a  panier,  —  or  a  receipt  for  a  tea-biscuit  or 
a  johnny-cake,  was  something  to  go  home  with  rejoi 
cing. 

Arabel  Waite  and  Delia  could  only  use  three  rooms  of 
the  old  house  ;  the  rest  was  blinded  and  shut  up  ;  the 
garret  was  given  over  to  the  squirrels,  who  came  in  from 
the  great  butternut-trees  in  the  yard,  and  stowed  away 
their  rich  provision  under  the  eaves  and  away  down  be 
tween  the  walls,  and  grew  fat  there  all  winter,  and  frolicked 
like  a  troop  of  horse.  We  liked  to  hear  Delia  tell  of  their 
pranks,  and  of  all  the  other  queer,  quaint  things  in  their 
way  of  living.  Everybody  has  a  way  of  living  ;  and  if 
you  can  get  into  it,  every  one  is  as  good  as  a  story.  It 
always  seemed  to  us  as  if  Delia  brought  with  her  the  at 
mosphere  of  mysterious  old  houses,  and  old,  old  books 
stowed  away  in  their  by-places,  and  stories  of  the  far  past 
that  had  been  lived  there,  and  curious  ancient  garments 
done  with  long  ago,  and  packed  into  trunks  and  bureaus 
6 


82  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

in  the  dark,  unused  rooms,  where  there  had  been  parties 
once,  and  weddings  and  funerals  and  children's  games  in 
nurseries  ;  and  strange  fellowship  of  little  wild  things  that 
strayed  in  now,  —  bees  in  summer,  and  squirrels  in  win 
ter,  —  and  brought  the  woods  and  fields  with  them  under 
the  old  roof.  Why,  I  think  we  should  have  missed  it 
more  than  she  would,  if  we  had  put  her  into  some  back 
room,  and  poked  her  sewing  in  at  her,  and  left  her  to  her 
self! 

The  only  thing  that  was  n't  nice  that  week  was  Aunt 
Roderick  coming  over  one  morning  in  the  very  thick  of 
our  work,  and  Lucilla's  too,  walking  straight  up  stairs,  as 
aunts  can,  whether  you  want  them  or  not,  and  standing 
astonished  at  the  great  goings-on. 

"  Well !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  strong  falling  inflection, 
"  are  any  of  you  getting  ready  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  Yes  'm,"  said  Barbara,  gravely,  handing  her  a  chair. 
"All  of  us." 

Then  Barbara  made  rather  an  unnecessary  parade  of 
ribbon  that  she  was  quilling  up,  and  of  black  lace  that  was 
to  go  each  side  of  it  upon  a  little  round  jacket  for  her  blue 
silk  dress,  made  of  a  piece  laid  away  five  years  ago,  when 
she  first  had  it.  The  skirt  was  turned  now,  and  the  waist 
was  gone. 

While  Aunt  Roderick  was  there,  she  also  took  occasion 
to  toss  over,  more  or  less,  everything  that  lay  about,  — 
u  to  help  her  in  her  inventory,"  she  said  after  she  went 
away. 

"  Twelve  new  embroidered  cambric  handkerchiefs," 
repeated  she,  as  she  turned  back  from  the  stair-head, 
having  seen  Aunt  Roderick  down. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  83 

Barbara  had  once,  in  a  severe  fit  of  needle-industry, 
inspired  by  the  discovery  of  two  baby  robes  of  linen  cam 
bric  among  mother's  old  treasures,  and  their  bestowal 
upon  her,  turned  them  into  these  elegances,  broadly 
hemmed  with  the  finest  machine  stitch,  and  marked  with 
beautiful  great  B's  in  the  corners.  She  showed  them,  in 
her  pride,  to  Mrs.  Roderick ;  and  we  knew  afterward 
what  her  abstract  report  had  been,  in  Grandfather  Hola- 
bird's  hearing:.  Grandfather  Holabird  knew  we  did  with- 

o 

out  a  good  many  things ;  but  he  had  an  impression  of 
us,  from  instances  like  these,  that  we  were  seized  with 
sudden  spasms  of  recklessness  at  times,  and  rushed  into 
French  embroideries  and  sets  of  jewelry.  I  believe  he 
heard  of  mother's  one  handsome  black  silk,  every  time 
she  wore  it  upon  semiannual  occasions,  until  he  would 
have  said  that  Mrs.  Stephen  had  a  new  fifty-dollar  dress 
every  six  months.  This  was  one  of  our  little  family 
trials. 

"I  don't  think  Mrs.  Roderick  does  it  on  purpose," 
Ruth  would  say.  "  I  think  there  are  two  things  that 
make  her  talk  in  that  way.  In  the  first  place,  she  has 
got  into  the  habit  of  carrying  home  all  the  news  she  can, 
and  making  it  as  big  as  possible,  to  amuse  Mr.  Holabird  ; 
and  then  she  has  to  settle  it  over  in  her  own  mind,  every 
once  in  a  while,  that  things  must  be  pretty  comfortable 
amongst  us,  down  here,  after  all." 

Ruth  never  dreamed  of  being  satirical ;  it  was  a  per 
fectly  straightforward  explanation  ;  and  it  showed,  she 
truly  believed,  two  quite  kind  and  considerate  points  in 
Aunt  Roderick's  character. 

After  the  party  came  back  from  the  Isles  of  Shoals, 


84  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  went  down  to  Newport.  The  March. 
bankses  had  other  visitors,  —  people  whom  we  did  not 
know,  and  in  whose  way  we  were  not  thrown  ;  the  haute 
voice  was  sufficient  to  itself  again,  and  we  lived  on  a  piece 
of  our  own  life  once  more. 

u  It 's  rather  nice  to  knit  on  straight,"  said  Bar 
bara  ;  "  without  any  widening  or  narrowing  or  count 
ing  of  stitches.  I  like  very  well  to  come  to  a  plain 
place." 

Rosamond  never  liked  the  plain  places  quite  so  much ; 
but  she  accommodated  herself  beautifully,  and  was  just  as 
nice  as  she  could  be.  And  the  very  best  thing  about 
Rose  was,  that  she  never  put  on  anything,  or  left  any 
thing  off,  of  her  gentle  ways  and  notions.  She  would 
have  been  ready  at  any  time  for  the  most  delicate  fancy- 
pattern  that  could  be  woven  upon  her  plain  places.  That 
was  one  thing  which  mother  taught  us  all. 

"  Your  life  will  come  to  you ;  you  need  not  run  after 
it,"  she  would  say,  if  we  ever  got  restless  and  began  to 
think  there  was  no  way  out  of  the  family  hedge.  "  Have 
everything  in  yourselves  as  it  should  be,  and  then  you  can 
take  the  chances  as  they  arrive." 

"  Only  we  need  n't  put  our  bonnets  on,  and  sit  at  the 
windows,"  Barbara  once  replied. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird ;  u  and  especially  at  the 
front  windows.  A  great  deal  that  is  good  —  a  great  deal 
of  the  best  —  comes  in  at  the  back-doors." 

Everybody,  we  thought,  did  not  have  a  back-door  to 
their  life,  as  we  did.  They  hardly  seemed  to  know  if  they 
had  one  to  their  houses. 

Our  u  back  yett  was  ajee,"  now,  at  any  rate. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  85 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  came  in  at  it,  though,  just  the  same, 
and  so  did  her  cousin  and  Dakie.* 

Otherwise,  for  two  or  three  weeks,  our  chief  variety 
was  in  sending  for  old  Miss  Trixie  Spring  to  spend  the  day. 

Miss  Trixie  Spring  is  a  lively  old  lady,  who,  some 
threescore  and  five  years  ago,  was  christened  "  Beatrix." 
She  plays  backgammon  in  the  twilights,  with  mother,  and 
makes  a  table  at  whist,  at  once  lively  and  severe,  in  the 
evenings,  for  father.  At  this  whist-table,  Barbara  usu 
ally  is  the  fourth.  Rosamond  gets  sleepy  over  it,  and 
Ruth—-  Miss  Trixie  says  —  "  plays  like  a  ninkum." 

We  always  wanted  Miss  Trixie,  somehow,  to  complete 
comfort,  when  we  were  especially  comfortable  by  our 
selves  ;  when  we  had  something  particularly  good  for  din 
ner,  or  found  ourselves  set  cheerily  down  for  a  long  day 
at  quiet  work,  with  everything  early-nice  about  us  ;  or 
when  we  were  going  to  make  something  "  contrive-y," 
"  Swiss-family-Robinson-ish,"  that  got  us  all  together  over 
it,  in  the  hilarity  of  enterprise  and  the  zeal  of  acquisition. 
Miss  Trixie  could  appreciate  homely  cleverness  ;  darning 
of  carpets  and  covering  of  old  furniture  ;  she  could  darn  a 
carpet  herself,  so  as  almost  to  improve  upon  —  certainly 
to  supplant  —  the  original  pattern.  Yet  she  always  had  a 
fresh  amazement  for  all  our  performances,  as  if  nothing  not 
able  had  ever  been  done  before,  and  a  personal  delight  in 
every  one  of  our  improvements,  as  if  they  had  been  her  own. 

u  We  're  just  as  cosey  as  we  can  be,  already,  —  it  is  n't 
that  ;  but  we  want  somebody  to  tell  us  how  cosey  we  are. 
Let  's  get  Miss  Trixie  to-day,"  says  Barbara. 

*  Harry  Goldthwaite  is  Leslie's  cousin,  and  Mr.  Aaron  Goldthwaite's 
ward.  I  do  not  believe  we  have  ever  thought  to  put  this  in  before. 


86  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Once  was  when  the  new  drugget  went  down,  at  last, 
in  the  dining-room.  It  was  tan-color,  bound  with  crim 
son, —  covering  three  square  yards  ;  and  mother  nailed  it 
down  with  brass-headed  tacks,  right  after  breakfast,  one 
cool  morning.  Then  Katty  washed  up  the  dark  floor- 
margin,  and  the  table  had  its  crimson-striped  cloth  on,  and 
mother  brought  down  the  brown  stuff  for  the  new  sofa- 
cover,  and  the  great  bunch  of  crimson  braid  to  bind  that 
with,  and  we  drew  up  our  camp-chairs  and  crickets,  and 
got  ready  to  be  busy  and  jolly,  and  to  have  a  brand-new 
piece  of  furniture  before  night. 

Barbara  had  made  peach-dumpling  for  dinner,  and  of 
course  Aunt  Trixie  was  the  last  and  crowning  suggestion. 
It  was  not  far  to  send,  and  she  was  not  long  in  coming, 
with  her  second-best  cap  pinned  up  in  a  handkerchief,  and 
her  knitting-work  and  her  spectacles  in  her  bag. 

The  Marchbankses  never  made  sofa-covers  of  brown 
waterproof,  nor  had  Miss  Trixies  to  spend  the  day.  That 
was  because  they  had  no  back-door  to  their  house. 

I  suppose  you  think  there  are  a  good  many  people  in  our 
story.  There  are ;  when  we  think  it  up  there  are  ever  so 
many  people  that  have  to  do  with  our  story  every  day ; 
but  we  don't  mean  to  tell  you  all  their  stories ;  so  you  can 
bear  with  the  momentary  introduction  when  you  meet 
them  in  our  brown  room,  or  in  our  dining-room,  of  a 
morning,  although  we  know  very  well  also  that  passing 
introductions  are  going  out  of  fashion. 

We  had  Dakie  Thayne's  last  visit  that  day,  in  the  midst 
of  the  hammering  and  binding.  Leslie  and  he  came  in 
with  Ruth,  when  she  came  back  from  her  hour  with  Reba 
Hadden.  It  was  to  bid  us  good  by ;  his  furlough  was  over; 
he  was  to  return  to  West  Point  on  Monday. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


87 


"  Another  two  years'  pull,"  he  said.  "  Won't  you  all 
come  to  West  Point  next  summer  ?  " 

"  If  we  take  the  journey  we  think  of,"  said  Barbara, 
composedly,  —  "  to  the  mountains  and  Montreal  and  Que 
bec  ;  perhaps  up  the  Saguenay ;  and  then  back,  up  Lake 
Champlain,  and  down  the  Hudson,  on  our  way  to  Saratoga 
and  Niagara.  We  might  keep  on  to  West  Point  first,  and 
have  a  day  or  two  there." 

"  Barbara,"  said  mother,  remonstratingly. 

"  Why  ?  Don't  we  think  of  it  ?  I  'm  sure- 1  do.  I  've 
thought  of  it  till  I  'm  almost  tired  of  it.  I  don't  much 
believe  we  shall  come,  after  all,  Mr.  Thayne." 


88  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  We  shall  miss  you  very  much,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird, 
covering  Barbara's  nonsense. 

"  Our  summer  has  stopped  right  in  the  middle,"  said 
Barbara,  determined  to  talk. 

"I  shall  hear  about  you  all,"  said  Dakie  Thayne. 
"  There  's  to  be  a  Westover  column  in  Leslie's  news.  I 
wish  —  "  and  there  the  cadet  stopped. 

Mother  looked  up  at  him  with  a  pleasant  inquiry. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  I  wish  there  might  be  a  Westover 
correspondent,  to  put  in  just  a  word  or  two,  sometimes  ; 
but  then  I  was  afraid  that  would  be  impertinent.  When 
a  fellow  has  only  eight  weeks  in  the  year  of  living,  Mrs. 
Holabird,  and  all  the  rest  is  drill,  you  don't  know  how  he 
hangs  on  to  those  eight  weeks,  —  and  how  they  hang  on  to 
him  afterwards." 

Mother  looked  so  motherly  at  him  then  ! 

"  We  shall  not  forget  you  —  Dakie,"  she  said,  using  his 
first  name  for  the  first  time.  "  You  shall  have  a  message 
from  us  now  and  then." 

Dakie  said,  "  Thank  you,"  in  a  tone  that  responded  to 
her  "  Dakie." 

We  all  knew  he  liked  Mrs.  Holabird  ever  so  much. 
Homes  and  mothers  are  beautiful  things  to  boys  who  have 
had  to  do  without  them. 

He  shook  hands  with  us  all  round,  when  he  got  up  to  go. 
He  shook  hands  also  with  our  old  friend,  Miss  Trixie, 
whom  he  had  never  happened  to  see  before.  Then  Ros 
amond  went  out  with  him  and  Leslie,  —  as  it  was  our 
cordial,  countrified  fashion  for  somebody  to  do,  —  through 
the  hall  to  the  door.  Ruth  went  as  far  as  the  stairs,  on  her 
way  to  her  room  to  take  off  her  things.  She  stood  there, 
up  two  steps,  as  they  were  leaving. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  89 

Dakie  Thayne  said  good  by  again  to  Rosamond,  at  the 
door,  as  was  natural ;  and  then  he  came  quite  back,  and 
said  it  last  of  all,  once  more,  to  little  Ruth  upon  the  stairs. 
He  certainly  did  hate  to  go  away  and  leave  us  all. 

"That  is  a  very  remarkable  pretty -behaved  young 
man,"  said  Miss  Trixie,  when  we  all  picked  up  our  breadths 
of  waterproof,  and  got  in  behind  them  again. 

"  The  world  is  a  desert,  and  the  sand  has  got  into  my 
eyes,"  said  Barbara,  who  had  hushed  up  ever  since  mother 
had  said  "  Dakie."  When  anybody  came  close  to  mother, 
Barbara  was  touched.  I  think  her  love  for  mother  is  more 
like  a  son's  than  a  daughter's,  in  the  sort  of  chivalry  it  has 
with  it. 

It  was  curious  how  suddenly  our  little  accession  of  social 
importance  had  come  on,  and  wonderful  how  quickly  it 
had  subsided ;  more  curious  and  wonderful  still,  how  en 
tirely  it  seemed  to  stay  subsided. 

We  had  plenty  to  do,  though ;  we  did  not  miss  anything ; 
only  we  had  quite  taken  up  with  another  set  of  things. 
This  was  the  way  it  was  with  us  ;  we  had  things  we  must 
take  up  ;  we  could  not  have  spared  time  to  lead  society 
for  a  long  while  together. 

Aunt  Roderick  claimed  us,  too,  in  our  leisure  hours,  just 
then ;  she  had  a  niece  come  to  stay  with  her ;  and  we  had 
to  go  over  to  the  "  old  house  "  and  spend  afternoons,  and 
ask  Aunt  Roderick  and  Miss  Bragdowne  in  to  tea  with 
us.  Aunt  Roderick  always  expected  this  sort  of  attention ; 
and  yet  she  had  a  way  with  her  as  if  we  ought  not  to  try 
to  afford  things,  looked  scrutinizingly  at  the  quality  of  our 
cake  and  preserves,  and  seemed  to  eat  our  bread  and  but 
ter  with  consideration. 


90  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

It  helped  Rosamond  very  much,  though,  over  the  tran 
sition.  We,  also,  had  had  private  occupation. 

"  There  had  been  family  company  at  grandfather's," 
she  told  Jeannie  Hadden,  one  morning.  "  We  had  been 
very  much  engaged  among  ourselves.  We  had  hardly 
seen  anything  of  the  other  girls  for  two  or  three  weeks." 

Barbara  sat  at  the  round  table,  where  Stephen  had  been 
doing  his  geometry  last  night,  twirling  a  pair  of  pencil 
compasses  about  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  while  this  was  say 
ing.  She  lifted  up  her  eyes  a  little,  cornerwise,  without 
moving  her  head,  and  gave  a  twinkle  of  mischief  over  at 
mother  and  Ruth.  When  Jeannie  was  gone,  she  kept  on 
silently,  a  few  minutes,  with  her  diagrams.  Then  she 
said,  in  her  funniest,  repressed  way,  — 

"  I  can  see  a  little  how  it  must  be ;  but  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  understand  the  differential  calculus  to  compute 
it.  Circles  are  wonderful  things ;  and  the  science  of 
curves  holds  almost  everything.  Rose,  when  do  you 
think  we  shall  get  round  again  ?  " 

She  held  up  her  bit  of  paper  as  she  spoke,  scrawled 
over  with  intersecting  circles  and  arcs  and  ellipses,  against 
whose  curves  and  circumferences  she  had  written  names  : 
Marchbanks,  Hadden,  Goldthwaite,  Holabird. 

"  It 's  a  mere  question  of  centre  and  radius,"  she  said. 
"  You  may  be  big  enough  to  take  in  the  whole  of  them, 
or  you  may  only  cut  in  at  the  sides.  You  may  be  just 
tangent  for  a  minute,  and  then  go  off  into  space  on  your 
own  account.  You  may  have  your  centre  barely  inside 
of  a  great  ring,  and  yet  reach  pretty  well  out  of  it  for  a 
good  part ;  you  must  be  small  to  be  taken  quite  in  by 
anybody's  !  " 


WE   GIRLS:     A  HOME   STORY.  91 

"  It  does  n't  illustrate,"  said  Rose,  coolly.  "  Orbits 
don't  snarl  up  in  that  fashion." 

"  Geometry  does,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  told  you  I  could  n't 
work  it  all  out.  But  I  suppose  there  's  a  Q.  E.  D.  at  the 
end  of  it  somewhere." 

Two  or  three  days  after  something  new  happened  ;  an 
old  thing  happened  freshly,  rather,  —  which  also  had  to 
do  with  our  orbit  and  its  eccentricities.  Barbara,  as  usual, 
discovered  and  announced  it. 

"  I  should  think  any  kind  of  an  astronomer  might  be 
mad  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Periods  and  distances  are  bad 
enough  ;  but  then  come  the  perturbations  !  Here  's  one. 
We  're  used  to  it,  to  be  sure  ;  but  we  never  know  exactly 
where  it  may  come  in.  The  girl  we  live  with  has  formed 
other  views  for  herself,  and  is  going  off  at  a  tangent. 
What  is  the  reason  we  can't  keep  a  satellite,  —  planet,  I 
mean?" 

"  Barbara  I "  said  mother,  anxiously, "  don't  be  absurd !  " 

"Well,  what  shall  I  be?  We're  all  out  of  a  place 
again."  And  she  sat  down  resignedly  on  a  very  low 
cricket,  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

" 1  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do,  mother,"  said  Ruth,  com 
ing  round.  "  I  've  thought  of  it  this  good  while.  We  '11 
co-operate ! " 

"  She 's  glad  of  it !  She  's  been  waiting  for  a  chance  ! 
I  believe  she  put  the  luminary  up  to  it !  Ruth,  you  're  a 
brick  —  moon  I  " 


92 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

i 

CO-OPERATING. 


HEN  mother  first  read  that  arti 
cle  in  the  Atlantic  she  had  said, 
right  off, — 

"  I  'm  sure  I  wish  they 
would  !  " 

"  Would  what,  mother  ?  " 
asked  Barbara. 

"  Co-operate." 

"  O  mother  !  I  really  do  be 
lieve  you  must  belong,  some 
how,  to  the  Micawber  family  ! 
I  should  n't  wonder  if  one  of 
these  days,  when  they  come  into 
their  luck,  you  should  hear  of 
something  greatly  to  your  ad 
vantage,  from  over  the  water. 
You  have  such  faith  in  4  they ' ! 
I  don't  believe  '  they '  will  ever 


do  much  for 


"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hobart,  rousing  from 
a  little  arm-chair  wink,  during  which  Mrs.  Holabird  had 
taken  up  the  magazine. 

Mrs.  Hobart  had  come  in,  with  her  cable  wool  and  her 
great  ivory  knitting-pins,  to  sit  an  hour,  sociably. 


WE   GIELS:    A  HOME   STORY.  93 

"  Co-operative  housekeeping,  ma'am,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Oh  !  Yes.  That  is  what  they  used  to  have,  in  old 
times,  when  we  lived  at  home  with  mother.  Only  they 
did  n't  write  articles  about  it.  All  the  women  in  a  house 
co-operated  —  to  keep  it ;  and  all  the  neighborhood  co 
operated —  by  living  exactly  in  the  same  way.  Nowa 
days,  it  's  co-operative  shirking  ;  is  n't  it  ?  " 

One  never  could  quite  tell  whether  Mrs.  Hobart  was 
more  simple  or  sharp. 

That  was  all  that  was  said  about  co-operative  house 
keeping  at  the  time.  But  Ruth  remembered  the  conver 
sation.  So  did  Barbara,  for  a  while,  as  appeared  in 
something  she  came  out  with  a  few  days  after. 

"  I  could  —  almost  —  write  a  little  poem  !  "  she  said, 
suddenly,  over  her  work.  "  Only  that  would  be  doing 
just  what  the  rest  do.  Everything  turns  into  a  poem,  or 
an  article,  nowadays.  I  wish  we  'd  lived  in  the  times 
when  people  did  the  things  !  " 

"  O  Barbara  !  Think  of  all  that  is  being  done  in  the 
world  !  " 

"  I  know.  But  the  little  private  things.  They  want 
to  turn  everything  into  a  movement.  Miss  Trixie  says 
they  won't  have  any  eggs  from  their  fowls  next  winter ; 
all  their  chickens  are  roosters,  and  all  they  '11  do  will  be 
to  sit  in  a  row  on  the  fence  and  crow  !  I  think  the  world 
is  running  pretty  much  to  roosters." 

"  Is  that  the  poem  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  might  come  in.  All  I  've  got  is 
the  end  of  it.  It  came  into  my  head  hind  side  before.  If 
it  could  only  have  a  beginning  and  a  middle  put  to  it,  it 
might  do.  It  's  just  the  wind-up,  where  they  have  to 


94  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

give  an  account,  you  know,  and  what  they  '11  have  to 
show  for  it,  and  the  thing  that  really  amounts,  after  all." 

"  Well,  tell  us." 

"  It  's  only  five  lines,  and  one  rhyme.  But  it  might 
be  written  up  to.  They  could  say  all  sorts  of  things,  — 
one  and  another  :  — 

"/wrote  some  little  books  ; 

I  said  some  little  says  ; 
/  preached  a  little  preach  ; 

/  lit  a  little  blaze  ; 
/made  things  pleasant  in  one  little  place." 

There  was  a  shout  at  Barbara's  "  poem." 

"  I  thought  I  might  as  well  relieve  my  mind,"  she  said, 
meekly.  "  I  knew  it  was  all  there  would  ever  be  of  it." 

But  Barbara's  rhyme  stayed  in  our  heads,  and  got 
quoted  in  the  family.  She  illustrated  on  a  small  scale 
what  the  "  poems  and  articles  "  may  sometimes  do  in  the 
great  world. 

We  remembered  it  that  day  when  Ruth  said,  "  Let  's 
co-operate." 

We  talked  it  over,  —  what  we  could  do  without  a  girl. 
We  had  talked  it  over  before.  We  had  had  to  try  it, 
more  or  less,  during  interregnums.  But  in  our  little 

house  in  Z ,  with  the  dark  kitchen,  and  with  Barbara 

and  Ruth  going  to  school,  and  the  washing-days,  when 
we  had  to  hire,  it  always  cost  more  than  it  came  to,  be 
sides  making  what  Barb  called  a  "  heave-offering  of  life." 

"  They  used  to  have  houses  built  accordingly,"  Rosa 
mond  said,  speaking  of  the  "  old  times."  "  Grandmother's 
kitchen  was  the  biggest  and  pleasantest  room  in  the 
house." 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY.  95 

"  Could  n't  we  make  the  kitchen  the  pleasantest 
room  ?  "  suggested  Ruth.  "  Would  n't  it  be  sure  to  be, 
if  it  was  the  room  we  all  stayed  in  mornings,  and  where 
we  had  our  morning  work  ?  Whatever  room  we  do  that 
in  always  is,  you  know.  The  look  grows.  Kitchens  are 
horrid  when  girls  have  just  gone  out  of  them,  and  left  the 
dish-towels  dirty,  and  the  dish-cloth  all  wabbled  up  in  the 
sink,  and  all  the  tins  and  irons  wanting  to  be  cleaned. 
But  if  we  once  got  up  a  real  ladies'  kitchen  of  our  own  I 
I  can  think  how  it  might  be  lovely  !  " 

"  I  can  think  how  it  might  be  jolly-nificent !  "  cried 
Barbara,  relapsing  into  her  dislocations. 

"  You  like  kitchens,"  said  Rosamond,  in  a  tone  of  quiet 
ill-usedness. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Barbara.  "  And  you  like  parlors,  and 
prettinesses,  and  feather  dusters,  and  little  general  touch- 
ings-up,  that  I  can't  have  patience  with.  You  shall  take  the 
high  art,  and  I  '11  have  the  low  realities.  That 's  the  co 
operation.  Families  are  put  up  assorted,  and  the  home 
character  comes  of  it.  It 's  Bible-truth,  you  know ;  the 
head  and  the  feet  and  the  eye  and  the  hand,  and  all  that. 
Let 's  just  see  what  we  shall  come  to  !  People  don't  turn 
out  what  they're  meant,  who  have  Irish  kitchens  and 
high-style  parlors,  all  alike.  There 's  a  great  deal  in  being 
Holabirdy,  —  or  whatever-else-you-are-y  !  " 

"  If  it  only  were  n't  for  that  cellar-kitchen,"  said  Mrs. 
Holabird. 

"  Mother,"  said  Ruth,  "  what  if  we  were  to  take  this  ?  "* 

We  were  in  the  dining-room. 

"  This  nice  room  !  " 

u  It  is  to  be  a  ladies'  kitchen,  you  know." 


96  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Everybody  glanced  around.  It  was  nice,  ever  so  nice. 
The  dark- stained  floor,  showing  clean,  undefaced  mar 
gins,  —  the  new,  pretty  drugget,  —  the  freshly  clad,  broad 
old  sofa,  —  the  high  wainscoted  walls,  painted  in  oak  and 
walnut  colors,  and  varnished  brightly,  —  the  ceiling  faint 
ly  tinted  with  buff,  —  the  buff  holland  shades  to  the  win 
dows,  —  the  dresser-closet  built  out  into  the  room  on  one 
side,  with  its  glass  upper-halves  to  the  doors,  showing  our 
prettiest  china  and  a  gleam  of  silver  and  glass,  —  the  two 
or  three  pretty  engravings  in  the  few  spaces  for  them,  — 
O,  it  was  a  great  deal  too  nice  to  take  for  a  kitchen. 

"  o 

But  Ruth  began  again. 

"  You  know,  mother,  before  Katty  came,  how  nice 
everything  was  down  stairs.  We  cooked  nearly  a  fort 
night,  and  washed  dishes,  and  everything ;  and  we  only 
had  the  floor  scrubbed  once,  and  there  never  was  a  slop 
on  the  stove,  or  a  teaspoonful  of  anything  spilled.  It 
would  be  so  different  from  a  girl !  It  seems  as  if  we  might 
bring  the  kitchen  up  stairs,  instead  of  going  down  into  the 
kitchen." 

"  But  the  stove,"  said  mother. 

"  I  think,"  said  Barbara,  boldly,  «  that  a  cooking-stove, 
all  polished  up,  is  just  as  handsome  a  thing  as  there  is  in 
a  house ! " 

"  It  is  clumsy,  one  must  own,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird, 
"  besides  being  suggestive." 

"  So  is  a  piano,"  said  the  determined  Barbara. 

"  I   can   imagine   a    cooking-stove,"    said    Rosamond, 

slowly. 

u  Well,  do !    That 's  just  where  your  gift  will  come  in  !  " 
"  A  pretty  copper  tea-kettle,  and  a  shiny  tin  boiler,  made 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  97 

to  order, — like  an  urn,  or  something,  —  with  a  copper 
faucet,  and  nothing  else  ever  about,  except  it  were  that 
minute  wanted;  and  all  the  tins  and  irons  begun  with 
new  again,  and  kept  clean ;  and  little  cocoanut  dippers 
with  German  silver  rims  ;  and  things  generally  contrived 
as  they  are  for  other  kinds  of  rooms  that  ladies  use  ; 
it  might  be  like  that  little  picnicking  dower-house  we 
read  about  in  a  novel,  or  like  Marie  Antoinette's  Tria 
non." 

"  That 's  what  it  would  come  to,  if  it  was  part  of  our 
living,  just  as  we  come  to  have  gold  thimbles  and  lovely 
work-boxes.  We  should  give  each  other  Christmas  and 
birthday  presents  of  things  ;  we  should  have  as  much 
pleasure  and  pride  in  it  as  in  the  china-closet.  Why,  the 
whole  trouble  is  that  the  kitchen  is  the  only  place  taste 
has  n't  got  into.  Let 's  have  an  art-kitchen  !  " 

"  We  might  spend  a  little  money  in  fitting  up  a  few 
things  freshly,  if  we  are  to  save  the  waste  and  expense  of 
a  servant,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird. 

The  idea  grew  and  developed. 

"  But  when  we  have  people  to  tea  !  "  Rosamond  said, 
suddenly  demurring  afresh. 

"  There  's  always  the  brown  room,  and  the  handing 
round,"  said  Barbara,  "  for  the  people  you  can't  be  inti 
mate  with,  and  think  how  crowsy  this  will  be  with  Aunt 
Trixie  or  Mrs.  Hobart  or  the  Goldthwaites ! " 

"  We  shall  just  settle  down"  said  Rose,  gloomily. 

"  Well,  I  believe  in  finding  our  place.  Every  little 
brook  runs  till  it  does  that.  I  don't  want  to  stand  on  tip 
toe  all  my  life." 

u  We  shall  always  gather  to  us  what  belongs.  Every 
1 


98  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

little  crystal  does  that,"  said  mother,  taking  up  another 
simile. 

"  What  will  Aunt  Roderick  say  ?  "  said  Ruth. 

"  I  shall  keep  her  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  tell  her  we 
could  n't  manage  with  one  girl  any  longer,  and  so  we  Ve 
taken  three  that  all  wanted  to  get  a  place  together." 

And  Barbara  actually  did ;  and  it  was  three  weeks  be 
fore  Mrs.  Roderick  found  out  what  it  really  meant. 

We  were  in  a  hurry  to  have  Katty  go,  and  to  begin, 
after  we  had  made  up  our  minds  ;  and  it  was  with  the 
serenest  composure  that  Mrs.  Holabird  received  her  re 
mark  that  u  her  week  would  be  up  a-Tuesday,  an'  she 
hoped  agin  then  we'd  be  shooted  wid  a  girl." 

"  Yes,  Katty ;  I  am  ready  at  any  moment,"  was  the 
reply ;  which  caused  the  whites  of  Katty's  eyes  to  appear 
for  a  second  between  the  lids  and  the  irids. 

There  had  been  only  one  applicant  for  the  place,  who 
had  come  while  we  had  not  quite  irrevocably  fixed  our 
plans. 

Mother  swerved  for  a  moment ;  she  came  in  and  told 
us  what  the  girl  said. 

"  She  is  not  experienced  ;  but  she  looks  good-natured ; 
and  she  is  willing  to  come  for  a  trial." 

"  They  all  do  that,"  said  Barbara,  gravely.  "  I  think  — 
as  Protestants  —  we  've  hired  enough  of  them." 

Mother  laughed,  and  let  the  "  trial  "  go.  That  was 
the  end,  I  think,  of  our  indecisions. 

We  got  Mrs.  Dunikin  to  come  and  scrub  ;  we  pulled 
out  pots  and  pans,  stove-polish  and  dish-towels,  napkins 
and  odd  stockings  missed  from  the  wash ;  we  cleared 
every  corner,  and  had  every  box  and  bottle  washed ;  then 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  99 

we  left  everything  below  spick  and  span,  so  that  it  almost 
tempted  us  to  stay  even  there,  and  sent  for  the  sheet-iron 
man,  and  had  the  stove  taken  up  stairs.  We  only  car 
ried  up  such  lesser  movables  as  we  knew  we  should  want ; 
we  left  all  the  accumulation  behind  ;  we  resolved  to  begin 
life  anew,  and  feel  our  way,  and  furnish  as  we  went  along. 

Ruth  brought  home  a  lovely  little  spice-box  as  the  first 
donation  to  the  art-kitchen.  Father  bought  a  copper  tea 
kettle,  and  the  sheet-iron  man  made  the  tin  boiler.  There 
was  a  wide,  high,  open  fireplace  in  the  dining-room ;  we 
had  wondered  what  we  should  do  with  it  in  the  winter. 
It  had  a  soapstone  mantel,  with  fluted  pilasters,  and  a 
brown-stone  hearth  and  jambs.  Back  a  little,  between 
these  sloping  jambs,  we  had  a  nice  iron  fire-board  set, 
with  an  ornamental  collar  around  the  funnel-hole.  The 
stove  stood  modestly  sheltered,  as  it  were,  in  its  new  po 
sition,  its  features  softened  to  almost  a  sitting-room  con- 
gruity ;  it  did  not  thrust  itself  obtrusively  forward,  and 
force  its  homely  association  upon  you  ;  it  was  low,  too, 
and  its  broad  top  looked  smooth  and  enticing. 

There  was  a  large,  light  closet  at  the  back  of  the  room, 
where  was  set  a  broad,  deep  iron  sink,  and  a  pump  came 
up  from  the  cistern.  This  closet  had  double  sliding 
doors ;  it  could  be  thrown  all  open  for  busy  use,  or  closed 
quite  away  and  done  with. 

There  were  shelves  here,  and  cupboards.  Here  we 
ranged  our  tins  and  our  saucepans,  —  the  best  and 
newest;  Rosamoncl  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
old  battered  ones  ;  over  them  we  hung  our  spoons  and  our 
little  strainers,  our  egg-beaters,  spatulas,  and  quart  meas 
ures, —  these  last  polished  to  the  brightness  of  silver  tank- 


100 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 


ards;  in  one  corner  stood  the  flour-barrel,  and  over  it 
was  the  sieve  ;  in  the  cupboards  were  our  porcelain  ket 
tles,  —  we  bought  two  new  ones,  a  little  and  a  big,  —  the 
frying-pans,  delicately  smooth  and  nice  now,  outside  and 
in,  the  roasting-pans,  and  the  one  iron  pot,  which  we 
never  meant  to  use  when  we  could  help  it.  The  worst 
things  we  could  have  to  wash  were  the  frying  and  roast 
ing  pans,  and  these,  we  soon  found,  were  not  bad  when 
you  did  it  all  over  and  at  once  every  time. 

Adjoining   this  closet   was  what  had  been   the  "  girl's 
room,"  opening  into  the  passage  where  the  kitchen  stairs 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  101 

came  up  ;  and  the  passage  itself  was  fair-sized  and  square, 
corresponding  to  the  depth  of  the  other  divisions.  Here 
we  had  a  great  box  placed  for  wood,  and  a  barrel  for 
coal,  and  another  for  kindlings ;  once  a  week  these  could 
be  replenished  as  required,  when  the  man  came  who 
"chored"  for  us.  The  "girl's  room  "  would  be  a  spare 
place  that  we  should  find  twenty  uses  for  ;  it  was  nice  to 
think  of  it  sweet  and  fresh,  empty  and  available;  very 
nice  not  to  be  afraid  to  remember  it  was  there  at  all. 

We  had  a  Robinson-Crusoe-like  pleasure  in  making  all 
these  arrangements  ;  every  clean  thing  that  we  put  in  a 
spotless  place  upon  shelf  or  nail  was  a  wealth  and  a  com 
fort  to  us.  Besides,  we  really  did  not  need  half  the  lum 
ber  of  a  common  kitchen  closet ;  a  china  bowl  or  plate 
would  no  longer  be  contraband  of  war,  and  Barbara  said 
she  could  stir  her  blanc-mange  with  a  silver  spoon  without 
demoralizing  anybody  to  the  extent  of  having  the  ashes 
taken  up  with  it. 

By  Friday  night  we  had  got  everything  to  the  exact 
and  perfect  starting-point ;  and  Mrs.  Dunikin  went  home 
enriched  with  gifts  that  were  to  her  like  a  tin-and- wooden 
wedding;  we  felt,  on  our  part,  that  we  had  celebrated 
ours  by  clearing  them  out. 

The  bread-box  was  sweet  and  empty ;  the  fragments 
had  been  all  daintily  crumbled  by  Ruth,  as  she  sat,  rest 
ing  and  talking,  when  she  had  come  in  from  her  music- 
lesson  ;  they  lay  heaped  up  like  lightly  fallen  snow,  in  a 
broad  dish,  ready  to  be  browned  for  chicken  dressing  or 
boiled  for  brewis  or  a  pudding.  Mother  never  has  any 
thing  between  loaves  and  crumbs  when  she  manages; 
then  all  is  nice,  and  keeps  nice. 


102  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

"  Clean  beginnings  are  beautiful,"  said  Rosamond,  look 
ing  around.  "  It  is  the  middle  that 's  horrid." 

"  We  won't  have  any  middles,"  said  Ruth.  u  We  '11 
keep  making  clean  beginnings,  all  the  way  along.  That 
is  the  difference  between  work  and  muss." 

"  If  you  can,"  said  Rose,  doubtfully. 

I  suppose  that  is  what  some  people  will  say,  after  this 
Holabird  story  is  printed  so  far.  Then  we  just  wish  they 
could  have  seen  mother  make  a  pudding  or  get  a  break 
fast,  that  is  all.  A  lady  will  no  more  make  a  jumble  or 
litter  in  doing  such  things  than  she  would  at  her  dressing- 
table.  It  only  needs  an  accustomed  and  delicate  touch. 

I  will  tell  you  something  of  how  it  was.  I  will  take 
that  Monday  morning  —  and  Monday  morning  is  as  good, 
for  badness,  as  you  can  take  — just  after  we  had  begun. 

The  room  was  nice  enough  for  breakfast  when  we  left 
it  over  night.  There  was  nothing  straying  about ;  the 
tea-kettle  and  the  tin  boiler  were  filled,  —  father  did  that 
just  before  he  locked  up  the  house  ;  we  had  only  to  draw 
up  the  window-shades,  and  let  the  sweet  light  in,  in  the 
morning. 

Stephen  had  put  a  basket  of  wood  and  kindlings  ready 
for  Mrs.  Dunikin  in  the  kitchen  below,  and  the  key  of  the 
lower  door  had  been  left  on  a  beam  in  the  woodshed,  by 
agreement.  By  the  time  we  came  down  stairs  Mrs.  Dun 
ikin  had  a  steaming  boiler  full  of  clothes,  and  had  done 
nearly  two  of  her  five  hours'  work.  We  should  hand  her 
her  breakfast  on  a  little  tray,  when  the  time  came,  at  the 
stair-head  ;  and  she  would  bring  up  her  cup  and  plate 
again  while  we  were  clearing  away.  We  should  pay  her 
twelve  and  a  half  cents  an  hour  ;  she  would  scrub  up  all 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  103 

below,  go  home  to  dinner,  and  come  again  to-morrow  for 
five  hours'  ironing.  That  was  all  there  would  be  about 
Mrs.  Dunikin. 

Meanwhile,  with  a  pair  of  gloves  on,  and  a  little  plain- 
hemmed  three-cornered,  dotted-muslin  cap  tied  over  her 
hair  with  a  muslin  bow  behind,  mother  had  let  down  the 
ashes,  —  it  is  n't  a  bad  thing  to  do  with  a  well-contrived 
stove,  —  and  set  the  pan,  to  which  we  had  a  duplicate, 
into  the  out-room,  for  Stephen  to  carry  away.  Then 
into  the  clean  grate  went  a  handful  of  shavings  and  pitch- 
pine  kindlings,  one  or  two  bits  of  hard  wood,  and  a  sprinkle 
of  small,  shiny  nut-coal.  The  draughts  were  put  on,  and 
in  five  minutes  the  coals  were  red.  In  these  five  minutes 
the  stove  and  the  mantel  were  dusted,  the  hearth  brushed 
up,  and  there  was  neither  chip  nor  mote  to  tell  the  tale. 
It  was  not  like  an  Irish  fire,  that  reaches  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  room  with  its  volcanic  margin  of  cinders 
and  ashes. 

Then  —  that  Monday  morning  —  we  had  brewis  to 
make,  a  little  buttered  toast  to  do,  and  some  eggs  to 
scramble.  The  bright  coffee-pot  got  its  ration  of  fragrant, 
beaten  paste,  —  the  brown  ground  kernels  mixed  with  an 
egg,  —  and  stood  waiting  for  its  drink  of  boiling  water. 
The  two  frying-pans  came  forth  ;  one  was  set  on  with  the 
milk  for  the  brewis,  into  which,  when  it  boiled  up  white 
and  drifting,  went  the  sweet  fresh  butter,  and  the  salt, 
each  in  plentiful  proportion  ;  —  "  one  can  give  one's  self 
carte-blancher,"  Barbara  said,  u  than  it  will  do  to  give  a 
girl  "  ;  —  and  then  the  bread-crumbs  ;  and  the  end  of  it 
was,  in  a  white  porcelain  dish,  a  light,  delicate,  savory 
bread-porridge,  to  eat  daintily  with  a  fork,  and  be  thank* 


104  WE   GIRLS;    A  HOME   STORY. 

ful  for.  The  other  pan  held  eggs,  broken  in  upon  bits  of 
butter,  and  sprinkles  of  pepper  and  salt ;  this  went  on 
when  the  coffee-pot  —  which  had  got  its  drink  when  the 
milk  boiled,  and  been  puffing  ever  since  —  was  ready  to 
come  off;  over  it  stood  Barbara  with  a  tin  spoon,  to  toss 
up  and  turn  until  the  whole  was  just  curdled  with  the 
heat  into  white  and  yellow  flakes,  not  one  of  which  was 
raw,  nor  one  was  dry.  Then  the  two  pans  and  the  coffee 
pot  and  the  little  bowl  in  which  the  coffee-paste  had  been 
beaten  and  the  spoons  went  off  into  the  pantry-closet,  and 
the  breakfast  was  ready  ;  and  only  Barbara  waited  a  mo 
ment  to  toast  and  butter  the  bread,  while  mother,  in  her 
place  at  table,  was  serving  the  cups.  It  was  Ruth  who 
had  set  the  table,  and  carried  off  the  cookery  things,  and 
folded  and  slid  back  the  little  pembroke,  that  had  held 
them  beside  the  stove,  into  its  corner. 

Rosamond  had  been  busy  in  the  brown  room  ;  that  was 
all  nice  now  for  the  day  ;  and  she  came  in  with  a  little 
glass  vase  in  her  hand,  in  which  was  a  tea-rose,  that  she 
put  before  mother  at  the  edge  of  the  white  waiter-napkin  ; 
and  it  graced  and  freshened  all  the  place  ;  and  the  smell 
of  it,  and  the  bright  September  air  that  came  in  at  the 
three  cool  west  windows,  overbore  all  remembrance  of  the 
cooking  and  reminder  of  the  stove,  from  which  we  were 
seated  well  away,  and  before  which  stood  now  a  square, 
dark  green  screen  that  Rosamond  had  recollected  and 
brought  down  from  the  garret  on  Saturday.  Barbara  and 
her  toast  emerged  from  its  shelter  as  innocent  of  behind- 
the-scenes  as  any  bit  of  pretty  play  or  pageant. 

Barbara  looked  very  nice  this  morning,  in  her  brown- 
plaid  Scotch  gingham  trimmed  with  white  braids  ;    she 


WE   GIRLS  :    A  HOME   STOEY.  105 

had  brown  slippers,  also,  with  bows  ;  she  would  not  verify 
Rosamond's  prophecy  that  she  "  would  be  all  points,^'  now 
that  there  was  an  apology  for  them.  I  think  we  were  all 
more  particular  about  our  outer  ladyhood  than  usual. 

After  breakfast  the  little  pembroke  was  wheeled  out 
again,  and  on  it  put  a  steaming  pan  of  hot  water.  Ruth 
picked  up  the  dishes  ;  it  was  something  really  delicate  to 
see  her  scrape  them  clean,  with  a  pliant  knife,  as  a  painter 
might  cleanse  his  palette,  —  we  had,  in  fact,  a  palette- 
knife  that  we  kept  for  this  use  when  we  washed  our  own 
dishes,  —  and  then  set  them  in  piles  and  groups  before 
mother,  on  the  pembroke- table.  Mother  sat  in  her  raised 
arm-chair,  as  she  might  sit  making  tea  for  company  ;  she 
had  her  little  mop,  and  three  long,  soft  clean  towels  lay 
beside  her;  we  had  hemmed  a  new  dozen,  so  as  to  have 
plenty  from  day  to  day,  and  a  grand  Dunikin  wash  at  the 
end  on  the  Mondays. 

After  the  china  and  glass  were  done  and  put  up,  came 
forth  the  coffee-pot  and  the  two  pans,  and  had  their  scald, 
and  their  little  scour,  —  a  teaspoonful  of  sand  must  go  to 
the  daily  cleansing  of  an  iron  utensil,  in  mother's  hands  ; 
and  that  was  clean  work,  and  the  iron  thing  never  got  to 
be  "  horrid,"  any  more  than  a  china  bowl.  It  was  only 
a  little  heavy,  and  it  was  black  ;  but  the  black  did  not 
come  off.  It  is  slopping  and  burning  and  putting  away 
with  a  rinse,  that  makes  kettles  and  spiders  untouchable. 
Besides,  mother  keeps  a  bottle  of  ammonia  in  the  pantry, 
to  qualify  her  soap  and  water  with,  when  she  comes  to 
things  like  these.  She  calls  it  her  kitchen-maid  ;  it  does 
wonders  for  any  little  roughness  or  greasiness  ;  such  soii 
comes  off  in  that,  and  chemically  disappears. 


106  WE   GIELS  :    A  HOME   STORY. 

It  was  all  dining-room  work  ;  and  we  were  chatty  over 
it,  as  if  we  had  sat  down  to  wind  worsteds ;  and  there  was 
no  kitchen  in  the  house  that  morning. 

We  kept  our  butter  and  milk  in  the  brick  buttery  at 
the  foot  of  the  kitchen  stairs.  These  were  all  we  had  to 
go  up  and  down  for.  Barbara  set  away  the  milk,  and 
skimmed  the  cream,  and  brought  up  and  scalded  the  yester 
day's  pans  the  first  thing ;  and  they  were  out  in  a  row  — 
flashing  up  saucily  at  the  sun  and  giving  as  good  as  he 
sent  —  on  the  back  platform. 

She  and  Rosamond  were  up  stairs,  making  beds  and 
setting  straight ;  and  in  an  hour  after  breakfast  the  house 
was  in  its  beautiful  forenoon  order,  and  there  was  a  fore 
noon  of  three  hours  to  come. 

We  had  chickens  for  dinner  that  day,  I  remember ;  one 
always  does  remember  what  was  for  dinner  the  first  day 
in  a  new  house,  or  in  new  housekeeping.  William,  the 
chore-man,  had  killed  and  picked  and  drawn  them,  on 
Saturday  ;  I  do  not  mean  to  disguise  that  we  avoided  these 
last  processes ;  we  preferred  a  little  foresight  of  arrange 
ment.  They  were  hanging  in  the  buttery,  with  their  hearts 
and  livers  inside  them ;  mother  does  not  believe  in  gizzards. 
They  only  wanted  a  little  salt  bath  before  cooking. 

I  should  like  to  have  had  you  see  Mrs.  Holabird  tie  up 
those  chickens.  They  were  as  white  and  nice  as  her  own 
hands ;  and  their  legs  and  wings  were  fastened  down  to 
their  sides,  so  that  they  were  as  round  and  comfortable 
as  dumplings  before  she  had  done  with  them ;  and  she 
laid  them  out  of  her  two  little  palms  into  the  pan  in  a 
cunning  and  rosey  way  that  gave  them  a  relish  beforehand, 
and  sublimated  the  vulgar  need. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  107 

We  were  tired  of  sewing  and  writing  and  reading  in 
three  hours ;  it  was  only  restful  change  to  come  down 
and  put  the  chickens  into  the  oven,  and  set  the  dinner- 
table. 

Then,  in  the  broken  hour  while  they  were  cooking,  we 
drifted  out  upon  the  piazza,  and  among  our  plants  in  the 
shady  east  corner  by  the  parlor  windows,  and  Ruth  played 
a  little,  and  mother  took  up  the  Atlantic,  and  we  felt  we 
had  a  good  right  to  the  between-times  when  the  fresh 
dredgings  of  flour  were  getting  their  brown,  and  after  that, 
while  the  potatoes  were  boiling. 

Barbara  gave  us  currant-jelly ;  she  was  a  stingy  Barbara 
about  that  jelly,  and  counted  her  jars ;  and  when  father 
and  Stephen  came  in,  there  was  the  little  dinner  of  three 
covers,  and  a  peach-pie  of  Saturday's  making  on  the  side 
board,  and  the  green  screen  up  before  the  ertove  again, 
and  the  baking-pan  safe  in  the  pantry  sink,  wiih  hot  water 
and  ammonia  in  it. 

"  Mother,"  said  Barbara,  "  I  feel  as  if  we  had  got  rid 
of  a  menagerie  !  " 

"  It  is  the  girl  that  makes  the  kitchen,"  said  Ruth. 

"  And  then  the  kitchen  that  has  to  have  the  girl,"  said 
Mrs.  Holabird. 

Ruth  got  up  and  took  away  the  dishes,  and  went  round 
with  the  crumb-knife,  and  did  not  forget  to  fill  the  tum 
blers,  nor  to  put  on  father's  cheese. 

Our  talk  went  on,  and  we  forgot  there  was  any  "  tend- 
ing." 

"  We  did  n't  feel  all  that  in  the*  ends  of  our  elbows," 
said  mother  in  a  low  tone,  smiling  upon  Ruth  as  she  sat 
down  beside  her. 


108  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

"  Nor  have  to  scrinch  all  up,"  said  Stephen,  quite  out 
loud,  "  for  fear  she  'd  touch  us  !  " 

I  '11  tell  you  —  in  confidence  —  another  of  our  ways  at 
Westover  ;  what  we  did,  mostly,  after  the  last  two  meals, 
to  save  our  afternoons  and  evenings  and  our  nice  dresses. 
We  always  did  it  with  the  tea-things.  We  just  put  them, 
neatly  piled  and  ranged  in  that  deep  pantry  sink;  we 
poured  some  dipperfuls  of  hot  water  over  them,  and  shut 
the  cover  down ;  and  the  next  morning,  in  our  gingham 
gowns,  we  did  up  all  the  dish-washing  for  the  day. 

"  Who  folded  all  those  clothes  ?  "  Why,  we  girls,  of 
course.  But  you  can't  be  told  everything  in  one  chapter. 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


109 


CHAPTER  VII. 


SPRINKLES     AND     GUSTS. 

RS.  DUNIKIN  used  to  bring 
them  in,  almost  all  of  them,  and 
leave  them  heaped  up  in  the 
large  round  basket.  Then  there 
was  the  second-sized  basket,  in 
to  which  they  would  all  go  com 
fortably  when  they  were  folded 
up. 

One  Monday  night  we  went 
down  as  usual ;  some  of  us  came 
in,  —  for  we  had  been  playing 
croquet  until  into  the  twilight, 
and  the  Haddens  had  just  gone 
away,  so  we  were  later  than 
usual  at  our  laundry  work. 
Leslie  and  Harry  went  round 
with  Rosamond  to  the  front 
door  ;  Ruth  slipped  in  at  the 
back,  and  mother  came  down 
when  she  found  that  Rosamond  had  not  been  released. 
Barbara  finished  setting  the  tea-table,  which  she  had  a 
way  of  doing  in  a  whiff,  put  on  the  sweet  loaf  upon  the 
white  trencher,  and  the  dish  of  raspberry  jam  and  the 


110  WE   GIRLS:     A    HOME    STORY. 

little  silver-wire  basket  of  crisp  sugar-cakes,  and  then 
there  was  nothing  but  the  tea,  which  stood  ready  for 
drawing  in  the  small  Japanese  pot.  Tea  was  nothing  to 
get,  ever. 

"  Mother,  go  back  again  !  You  tired  old  darling,  Ruth 
and  I  are  going  to  do  these  ! "  and  Barbara  plunged  in 
among  the  "  blossoms." 

That  was  what  we  called  the  fresh,  sweet-smelling  white 
things.  There  are  a  great  many  pretty  pieces  of  life,  if 
you  only  know  about  them.  Hay-making  is  one  ;  and 
rose-gathering  is  one  ;  and  sprinkling  and  folding  a  great 
basket  full  of  white  clothes  right  out  of  the  grass  and  the 
air  and  the  sunshine  is  one. 

Mother  went  off,  —  chiefly  to  see  that  Leslie  and  Harry 
were  kept  to  tea,  I  believe.  She  knew  how  to  compensate, 
in  her  lovely  little  underhand  way,  with  Barbara. 

Barbara  pinned  up  her  muslin  sleeves  to  the  shoulder, 
shook  out  a  little  ruffled  short-skirt  and  put  it  on  for  an 
apron,  took  one  end  of  the  long  white  ironing-table  that 
stood  across  the  window,  pushed  the  water-basin  into  the 
middle,  and  began  with  the  shirts  and  the  starched  things. 
Ruth,  opposite,  was  making  the  soft  underclothing  into 
little  white  rolls. 

Barbara  dampened  and  smoothed  and  stretched  ;  she 
almost  ironed  with  her  fingers,  Mrs.  Dunikin  said.  She 
patted  and  evened,  laid  collars  and  cuffs  one  above 
another  with  a  sprinkle  of  drops>  just  from  her  finger-ends, 
between,  and  then  gave  a  towel  a  nice  equal  shower  with 
a  corn-whisk  that  she  used  for  the  large  things,  and  rolled 
them  up  in  it,  hard  and  fast,  with  a  thump  of  her  round 
pretty  fist  upon  the  middle  before  she  laid  it  by.  It  w°3 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  Ill 

a  clever  little  process  to  watch ;  and  her  arms  were  white 
in  the  twilight.  Girls  can't  do  all  the  possible  pretty  ma 
noeuvres  in  the  German  or  out  at  croquet,  if  they  only 
once  knew  it.  They  do  find  it  out  in  a  one-sided  sort  of 
way  ;  and  then  they  run  to  private  theatricals.  But  the 
real  every-day  scenes  are  just  as  nice,  only  they  must  have 
their  audiences  in  ones  and  twos ;  perhaps  not  always 
any  audience  at  all. 

Of  a  sudden  Ruth  became  aware  of  an  audience  of  one. 

Upon  the  balcony,  leaning  over  the  rail,  looking  right 
down  into  the  nearest  kitchen  window  and  over  Barbara's 
shoulder,  stood  Harry  Goldthwaite.  He  shook  his  head  at 
Ruth,  and  she  held  her  peace. 

Barbara  began  to  sing.  She  never  sang  to  the  piano,  — 
only  about  her  work.  She  made  up  little  snatches,  piece 
meal,  of  various  things,  and  put  them  to  any  sort  of  words. 
This  time  it  was  to  her  own,  —  her  poem. 

"  I  wrote  some  little  books  ; 
I  said  some  little  says  ; 
I  preached  a  little  pre-e-each  ; 

I  lit  a  little  blaze  ; 
I  made  —  things  —  pleasant  —  in  one  —  little  —  place." 

She  ran  down  a  most  contented  little  trip,  with  repeats 
and  returns,  in  a  G-octave,  for  the  last  line.  Then  she 
rolled  up  a  bundle  of  shirts  in  a  square  pillow-case,  gave 
it  its  accolade,  and  pressed  it  down  into  the  basket. 

"  How  do  you  suppose,  Ruth,  we  «hall  manage  the 
town-meetings  ?  Do  you  believe  they  will  be  as  nice  as 
this  ?  Where  shall  we  get  our  little  inspirations,  after  we 
have  come  out  of  all  our  corners  ?  " 

"  We  won't  do  it,"  said  Ruth,  quietly,  shaking  out  one 


112  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

of  mother's  nightcaps,  and  speaking  under  the  disadvan 
tage  of  her  private  knowledge. 

"  I  think  they  ought  to  let  us  vote  just  once,"  said  Bar 
bara  ;  "  to  say  whether  we  ever  would  again.  I  believe 
we  're  in  danger  of  being  put  upon  now,  if  we  never  were 
before." 

44  It  is  n't  fair,"  said  Ruth,  with  her  eyes  up  out  of  the 
window  at  Harry,  who  made  noiseless  motion  of  clapping 
his  hands.  How  could  she  tell  what  Barbara  would  say 
next,  or  how  she  would  like  it  when  she  knew  ? 

"  Of  course  it  is  n't,"  said  Barbara,  intent  upon  the 
gathers  of  a  white  cambric  waist  of  RosamondV  "  I 
wonder,  Ruth,  if  we  shall  have  to  read  all  those  Pub. 
Doc.s  that  father  gets.  You  see  women  will  make  awful 
hard  work  of  it,  if  they  once  do  go  at  it ;  they  are  so  used 
to  doing  every  —  little  —  thing  "  ;  and  she  picked  out  the 
neck-edging,  and  smoothed  the  hem  between  the  buttons. 

44  We  shall  have  to  take  vows,  and  devote  ourselves  to 
it,"  Barbara  went  on,  as  if  she  were  possessed.  "  There 
will  have  to  be  *  Sisters  of  Polity/  Not  that  I  ever  will. 
I  don't  feel  a  vocation.  I  'd  rather  be  a  Polly-put-the- 
kettle-on  all  the  days  of  my  life." 

"  Mr.  Goldthwaite  !  "  said  Ruth. 

"May  I?"  asked  Harry,  as  if  he  had  just  come,  lean 
ing  down  over  the  rail,  and  speaking  to  Barbara,  who 
faced  about  with  a  jump. 

She  knew  by  his  look ;  he  could  not  keep  in  the  fun. 

44  4  May  you '  ?     When  you  have  already  !  " 

44  O  no,  I  have  n't !  I  mean,  come  down  ?  Into  the 
one-pleasant-little-place,  and  help  ?  " 

"You  don't  know  the  way,"  Barbara  said,  stolidly, 
turning  back  again,  and  folding  up  the  waist. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  113 

"  Don't  I  ?  Which,  —  to  come  down,  or  to  help  ?  " 
and  Harry  flung  himself  over  the  rail,  clasped  one  hand 
and  wrist  around  a  copper  water-pipe  that  ran  down  there, 
reached  the  other  to  something  above  the  window,  — the 
mere  pediment,  I  believe,  —  and  swung  his  feet  lightly  to 
the  sill  beneath.  Then  he  dropped  himself  and  sat  down, 
close  by  Barbara's  elbow. 

"  You  '11  get  sprinkled,"  said  she,  flourishing  the  corn- 
whisk  over  a  table-cloth. 

"  I  dare  say.  Or  patted,  or  punched,  or  something. 
I  knew  I  took  the  risk  of  all  that  when  I  came  down 
amongst  it.  But  it  looked  nice.  I  could  n't  help  it,  and 
I  don't  care  !  " 

Barbara  was  thinking  of  two  things, —  how  long  he  had 
been  there,  and  what  in  the  world  she  had  said  besides 
what  she  remembered  ;  and  —  how  she  should  get  off  her 
rough-dried  apron. 

"  Which  do  you  want,  —  napkins  or  pillow-cases  ?  " 
and  he  came  round  to  the  basket,  and  began  to  pull  out. 

"  Napkins,"  says  Barbara. 

The  napkins  were  underneath,  and  mixed  up ;  while 
he  stooped  and  fumbled,  she  had  the  ruffled  petticoat  off 
over  her  head.  She  gave  it  a  shower  in  such  a  hurry, 
that  as  Harry  came  up  with  the  napkins,  he  did  get  a 
drift  of  it  in  his  face. 

"  That  won't  do,"  said  Barbara,  quite  shocked,  and 
tossing  the  whisk  aside.  "  There  are  too  many  of  us." 

She  began  on  the  napkins,  sprinkling  with  her  fingers. 
Harry  spread  up  a  pile  on  his  part,  dipping  also  into  the 
bowl.  "  I  used  to  do  it  when  I  was  a  little  boy,"  he 
said. 

8 


114  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Ruth  took  the  pillow-cases,  and  so  they  came  to  the 
last.  They  stretched  the  sheets  across  the  table,  and  all 
three  had  a  hand  in  smoothing  and  showering. 

"  Why,  I  wish  it  were  n't  all  done,"  says  Harry,  turn 
ing  over  three  clothes-pins  in  the  bottom  of  the  basket, 
while  Barbara  buttoned  her  sleeves.  "  Where  does  this 
go  ?  What  a  nice  place  this  is  !  "  looking  round  the  clean 
kitchen,  growing  shadowy  in  the  evening  light.  "  I  think 
your  house  is  full  of  nice  places." 

"  Are  you  nearly  ready,  girls  ?  "  came  in  mother's 
voice  from  above. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  Harry  answered  back,  in  an  excessive 
ly  cheery  way.  "  We  're  coming"  ;  and  up  the  stairs  all 
three  came  together,  greatly  to  Mrs.  Holabird's  astonish 
ment. 

"  You  never  know  where  help  is  coming  from  when 
you  're  trying  to  do  your  duty,"  said  Barbara,  in  a  high- 
moral  way.  "  Prince  Percinet,  Mrs.  Holabird." 

"  Miss  Polly-put  —  "  began  Harry  Goldthwaite,  brim 
ming  up  with  a  half-diffident  mischief.  But  Barbara 
walked  round  to  her  place  at  the  table  with  a  very  great 
dignity. 

People  think  that  young  folks  can  only  have  properly 
arranged  and  elaborately  provided  good  times ;  with  Ger- 
mania  band  pieces,  and  bouquets  and  ribbons  for  the  Ger 
man,  and  oysters  and  salmon-salad  and  sweatmeat-and- 
spun-sugar  "  chignons  "  ;  at  least,  commerce  games  and 
bewitching  little  prizes.  Yet  when  lives  just  touch  each 
other  naturally,  as  it  were,  —  dip  into  each  other's  little 
interests  and  doings,  and  take  them  as  they  are,  what  a 
multiplication-table  of  opportunities  it  opens  up  I  You 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY.  115 

may  happen  upon  a  good  time  any  minute,  then.  Neigh 
borhoods  used  to  go  on  in  that  simple  fashion ;  life  used 
to  be  "  co-operative." 

Mother  said  something  like  that  after  Leslie  and  Harry 
had  gone  away. 

"  Only  you  can't  get  them  into  it  again,"  objected 
Rosamond.  "  It 's  a  case  of  Humpty  Dumpty.  The 
world  will  go  on." 

"  One  world  will,"  said  Barbara.  u  But  the  world  is 
manifold.  You  can  set  up  any  kind  of  a  monad  you  like, 
and  a  world  will  shape  itself  round  it.  You  've  just  got 
to  live  your  own  way,  and  everything  that  belongs  to  it 
will  be  sure  to  join  on.  You  '11  have  a  world  before  you 
know  it.  I  think  myself  that 's  what  the  Ark  means,  and 
Mount  Ararat,  and  the  Noachian  —  don't  they  call  it  ?  — 
new  foundation.  That 's  the  way  they  got  up  New  Eng 
land,  anyhow." 

44  Barbara,  what  flights  you  take  !  " 

44  Do  I  ?  Well,  we  have  to.  The  world  lives  up 
nineteen  flights  now,  you  know,  besides  the  old  broken- 
down  and  buried  ones." 

It  was  a  few  days  after  that,  that  the  news  came  to 
mother  of  Aunt  Radford's  illness,  and  she  had  to  go 
up  to  Oxenham.  Father  went  with  her,  but  he  came 
back  the  same  night.  Mother  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  stay  a  week.  And  so  we  had  to  keep  house  without 
her. 

One  afternoon  Grandfather  Holabird  came  down.  I 
don't  know  why,  but  if  ever  mother  did  happen  to  be  out 
of  the  way,  it  seemed  as  if  he  took  the  time  to  talk  over 
special  affairs  with  father.  Yet  he  thought  everything  of 


116  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

"  Mrs.  Stephen,"  too,  and  he  quite  relied  upon  her  judg 
ment  and  influence.  But  I  think  old  men  do  often  feel  as 
if  they  had  got  their  sons  back  again,  quite  to  themselves, 
when  the  Mrs.  Stephens  or  the  Mrs.  Johns  leave  them  alone 
for  a  little. 

At  any  rate,  Grandfather  Holabird  sat  with  father  on 
the  north  piazza,  out  of  the  way  of  the  strong  south-wind  ; 
and  he  had  out  a  big  wallet,  and  a  great  many  papers,  and 
he  stayed  and  stayed,  from  just  after  dinner-time  till  almost 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  so  that  father  did  not  go  down 
to  his  office  at  all ;  and  when  old  Mr.  Holabird  went  home 
at  last,  he  walked  over  with  him.  Just  after  they  had 
gone  Leslie  Goldthwaite  and  Harry  stopped,  "  for  a  min 
ute  only,"  they  said  ;  for  the  south- wind  had  brought  up 
clouds,  and  there  was  rain  threatening.  That  was  how 
we  all  happened  to  be  just  as  we  were  that  night  of  the 
September  gale ;  for  it  was  the  September  gale  of  last  year 
that  was  coming. 

The  wind  had  been  queer,  in  gusts,  all  day ;  yet  the 
weather  had  been  soft  and  mild.  We  had  opened  windows 
for  the  pleasant  air,  and  shut  them  again  in  a  hurry  when 
the  papers  blew  about,  and  the  pictures  swung  to  and  fro 
against  the  walls.  Once  that  afternoon,  somebody  had  left 
doors  open  through  the  brown  room  and  the  dining-room, 
where  a  window  was  thrown  up,  as  we  could  have  it  there 
where  the  three  were  all  on  one  side.  Ruth  was  coming 
down  stairs,  and  saw  grandfather's  papers  give  a  whirl 
out  of  his  lap  and  across  the  piazza  floor  upon  the  gravel. 
If  she  had  not  sprung  so  quickly  and  gathered  them  all  up 
for  him,  some  of  them  might  have  blown  quite  away,  and 
led  father  a  chase  after  them  over  the  hill.  After  that, 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


117 


old  Mr.  Holabird  put  them  up  in  his  wallet  again,  and 
when  they  had  talked  a  few  minutes  more  they  went  off 
together  to  the  old  house. 

It  was  wonderful  how  that  wind  and  rain  did  come  up. 
The  few  minutes  that  Harry  and  Leslie  stopped  with  us, 
and  then  the  few  more  they  took  to  consider  whether  it 
would  do  for  Leslie  to  try  to  walk  home,  just  settled  it 
that  nobody  could  stir  until  there  should  be  some  sort  of 
lull  or  holding  up. 

Out  of  the  far  southerly  hills  came  the  blast,  rending 
and  crashing ;  the  first  swirls  of  rain  that  flung  themselves 


WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

against  our  windows  seemed  as  if  they  might  have  rushed 
ten  miles,  horizontally,  before  they  got  a  chance  to  drop ; 
the  trees  bent  down  and  sprang  again,  and  lashed  the  air 
to  and  fro ;  chips  and  leaves  and  fragments  of  all  strange 
sorts  took  the  wonderful  opportunity  and  went  soaring 
aloft  and  onward  in  a  false,  plebeian  triumph. 

The  rain  came  harder,  in  great  streams  ;  but  it  all  went 
by  in  white,  wavy  drifts ;  it  seemed  to  rain  from  south  to 
north  across  the  country,  —  not  to  fall  from  heaven  to 
earth ;  we  wondered  if  it  would  fall  anywhere.  It  beat 
against  the  house ;  that  stood  up  in  its  way ;  it  rained 
straight  in  at  the  window-sills  and  under  the  doors  ;  we  ran 
about  the  house  with  cloths  and  sponges  to  sop  it  up  from 
cushions  and  carpets. 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  Housekeeper !  "  called  out  Stephen  from 
above,  "  look  out  for  father's  dressing-room  !  It  's  all 
afloat,  —  hair-brushes  out  on  voyages  of  discovery,  and  a 
horrid  little  kelpie  sculling  round  on  a  hat-box  ! " 

Father's  dressing-room  was  a  windowed  closet,  in  the 
corner  space  beside  the  deep,  old-fashioned  chimney.  It 
had  hooks  and  shelves  in  one  end,  and  a  round  shaving- 
stand  and  a  chair  in  the  other.  We  had  to  pull  down  all 
his  clothes  and  pile  them  upon  chairs,  and  stop  up  the 
window  with  an  old  blanket.  A  pane  was  cracked,  and 
the  wind,  although  its  force  was  slanted  here,  had  blown 
it  in,  and  the  fine  driven  spray  was  dashed  across,  diago 
nally,  into  the  very  farthest  corner. 

In  the  room  a  gentle  cascade  descended  beside  the 
chimney,  and  a  picture  had  to  be  taken  down.  Down 
stairs  the  dining-room  sofa,  standing  across  a  window,  got 
a  little  lake  in  the  middle  of  it  before  we  knew.  The  side 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  119 

door  blew  open  with  a  bang,  and  hats,  coats,  and  shawls 
went  scurrying  from  their  pegs,  through  sitting-room  and 
hall,  like  a  flight  of  scared,  living  things.  We  were  like 
a  little  garrison  in  a  great  fort,  besieged  at  ail  points  at 
once.  We  had  to  bolt  doors,  —  latches  were  nothing, — 
and  bar  shutters.  And  when  we  could  paut>e  indoors, 
what  a  froth  and  whirl  we  had  to  gaze  out  at ! 

The  grass,  all  along  the  fields,  was  white,  prostrate ; 
swept  fiercely  one  way ;  every  blade  stretched  out  help 
less  upon  its  green  face.  The  little  pear-trees,  heavy 
with  fruit,  lay  prone  in  literal  "  windrows."  The  great 
ashes  and  walnuts  twisted  and  writhed,  and  had  their 
branches  stripped  upward  of  their  leaves,  as  a  child  might 
draw  a  head  of  blossoming  grass  between  his  thumb  and 
finger.  The  beautiful  elms  were  in  a  wild  agony ;  their 
graceful  little  bough-tips  were  all  snapped  off  and  whirled 
away  upon  the  blast,  leaving  them  in  a  ragged  blight.  A 
great  silver  poplar  went  over  by  the  fence,  carrying  the 
posts  and  palings  with  it,  and  upturned  a  huge  mass  of 
roots  and  earth,  that  had  silently  cemented  itself  for  half 
a  century  beneath  the  sward.  Up  and  down,  between 
Grandfather  Holabird's  home-field  and  ours,  fallen  locusts 
and  wild  cherry-trees  made  an  abatis.  Over  and  through 
all  swept  the  smiting,  powdery,  seething  storm  of  waters  ; 
the  air  was  like  a  sea,  tossing  and  foaming  ;  we  could  only 
see  through  it  by  snatches,  to  cry  out  that  this  and  that 
had  happened.  Down  below  us,  the  roof  was  lifted  from 
a  barn,  and  crumpled  up  in  a  heap  half  a  furlong  off, 
against  some  rocks  ;  and  the  hay  was  flying  in  great  locks 
through  the  air. 

It  began  to  grow  dark.     We  put  a  bright,  steady  light 


120  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

in  the  brown  room,  to  shine  through  the  south  window, 
and  show  father  that  we  were  all  right ;  directly  af 
ter  a  lamp  was  set  in  Grandfather  Holabird's  north 
porch.  This  little  telegraphy  was  all  we  could  manage; 
we  were  as  far  apart  as  if  the  Atlantic  were  between 
us. 

"  Will  they  be  frightened  about  you  at  home  ?  "  asked 
Ruth  of  Leslie. 

"  I  think  not.  They  will  know  we  should  go  in  some 
where,  and  that  there  would  be  no  way  of  getting  out 
again.  People  must  be  caught  everywhere,  just  as  it 
happens,  to-night." 

"  It 's  just  the  jolliest  turn-up  !  "  cried  Stephen,  who 
had  been  in  an  ecstasy  all  the  time.  "  Let 's  make  mo 
lasses-candy,  and  sit  up  all  night !  " 

Between  eight  and  nine  we  had  some  tea.  The  wind 
had  lulled  a  little  from  its  hurricane  force  ;  the  rain  had 
stopped. 

"  It  had  all  been  blown  to  Canada,  by  this  time," 
Harry  Goldthwaite  said.  "  That  rain  never  stopped  any 
where  short,  except  at  the  walls  and  windows." 

True  enough,  next  morning,  when  we  went  out,  the 
grass  was  actually  dry. 

It  was  nearly  ten  when  Stephen  went  to  the  south  win 
dow  and  put  his  hands  up  each  side  of  his  face  against  the 
glass,  and  cried  out  that  there  was  a  lantern  coming  over 
from  grandfather's.  Then  we  all  went  and  looked. 

It  came  slowly  ;  once  or  twice  it  stopped ;  and  once  it 
moved  down  hill  at  right  angles  quite  a  long  way.  "  That 
is  where  the  trees  are  down,"  we  said.  But  presently  it 
took  an  unobstructed  diagonal,  and  came  steadily  on  to 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  121 

the  long  piazza  steps,  and  up  to  the  side  door  that  opened 
upon  the  little  passage  to  the  dining-room. 

We  thought  it  was  father,  of  course,  and  we  all  hurried 
to  the  door  to  let  him  in,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make 
it  nearly  impossible  that  he  should  enter  at  all.  But  it 
was  Grandfather  Holabird's  man,  Robert. 

"  The  old  gentleman  has  been  taken  bad,"  he  said. 
"  Mr.  Stephen  wants  to  know  if  you  're  all  comfortable, 
and  he  won't  come  till  Mr.  Holabird  's  better.  I  've  got 
to  go  to  the  town  for  the  doctor." 

"On  foot,  Robert?" 

u  Sure.  There  's  no  other  way.  I  take  it  there  's  many 
a  good  winter's  firing  of  wood  down  across  the  road  atwixt 
here  and  there.  There  ain't  much  knowing  where  you 
can  get  along." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  We  must  n't  keep  him,"  urged  Barbara. 

"  No,  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  kep'.  '  T  won't  do.  I  donnc 
what  it  is.  It 's  a  kind  of  a  turn.  He  's  comin'  partly 
out  of  it ;  but  it  's  bad.  He  had  a  kind  of  a  warnin'  once 
before.  It 's  his  head.  They  're  afraid  it 's  appalectic,  or 
paralettic,  or  sunthin'." 

Robert  looked  very  sober.  He  quite  passed  by  the  won 
der  of  the  gale,  that  another  time  would  have  stirred  him 
to  most  lively  speech.  Robert  "  thought  a  good  deal,"  as 
he  expressed  it,  of  Grandfather  Holabird. 

Harry  Goldthwaite  came  through  the  brown  room  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand.  How  he  ever  found  it  we  could  not 
tell. 

"  I  '11  go  with  him,"  he  said.  "  You  won't  be  afraid 
now,  will  you,  Barbara  ?  I  ?m  very  sorry  about  Mr.  Hol 
abird." 


122  WE   GIRLS-.    A  HOME   STORY. 

He  shook  hands  with  Barbara, — it  chanced  that  she 
stood  nearest,  —  bade  us  all  good  night,  and  went  away. 
We  turned  back  silently  into  the  brown  room. 

We  were  all  quite  hushed  from  our  late  excitement. 
What  strange  things  were  happening  to-night ! 

All  in  a  moment  something  so  solemn  and  important 
was  put  into  our  minds.  An  event  that,  —  never  talked 
about,  and  thought  of  as  little,  I  suppose,  as  such  a  one 
ever  was  in  any  family  like  ours,  — had  yet  always 
loomed  vaguely  afar,  as  what  should  come  some  time,  and 
would  bring  changes  when  it  came,  was  suddenly  im 
pending. 

Grandfather  might  be  going  to  die. 

And  yet  what  was  there  for  us  to  do  but  to  go  quietly 
back  into  the  brown  room  and  sit  down  ? 

There  was  nothing  to  say  even.  There  never  is  any 
thing  to  say  about  the  greatest  things.  People  can  only 
name  the  bare,  grand,  awful  fact,  and  say,  "  It  was  tre 
mendous,"  or  "startling,'1  or  "magnificent,"  or  "terri 
ble,"  or  "  sad."  How  little  we  could  really  say  about  the 
gale,  even  now  that  it  was  over  !  We  could  repeat  that 
this  and  that  tree  were  blown  down,  and  such  a  barn  or 
house  unroofed ;  but  we  could  not  get  the  real  wonder  of 
it  —  the  thing  that  moved  us  to  try  to  talk  it  over  —  into 
any  words. 

"  He  seemed  so  well  this  afternoon,"  said  Rosamond. 
"  I  don't  think  he  was  quite  well,"  said  Ruth.     "  His 
hands  trembled  so  when  he  was  folding  up  his  papers  ; 
and  he  was  very  slow." 

"  O,  men  always  are  with  their  fingers.     I  don't  think 
that  was   anything,"  said   Barbara.      "  But  I  think  he 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  123 

seemed  rather  nervous  when  he  came  over.  And  he 
would  not  sit  in  the  house,  though  the  wind  was  coming 
up  then.  He  said  he  liked  the  air  ;  and  he  and  father  got 
the  shaker  chairs  up  there  by  the  front  door  ;  and  he  sat 
and  pinched  his  knees  together  to  make  a  lap  to  hold  his 
papers  ;  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  manage  ;  no  wonder 
his  hands  trembled." 

"  I  wonder  what  they  were  talking  about,"  said  Rosa 
mond. 

"  I  'm  glad  Uncle  Stephen  went  home  with  him,"  said 
Ruth. 

"  I  wonder  if  we  shall  have  this  house  to  live  in  if 
grandfather  should  die,"  said  Stephen,  suddenly.  It 
could  not  have  been  his  first  thought ;  he  had  sat  soberly 
silent  a  good  while. 

"  O  Stevie  !  don't  let 's  think  anything  about  that ! " 
said  Ruth ;  and  nobody  else  answered  at  all. 

We  sent  Stephen  off  to  bed,  and  we  girls  sat  round  the 
fire,  which  we  had  made  up  in  the  great  open  fireplace, 
till  twelve  o'clock ;  then  we  all  went  up  stairs,  leaving  the 
side  door  unfastened.  Ruth  brought  some  pillows  and 
comfortables  into  Rosamond  and  Barbara's  room,  made  up 
a  couch  for  herself  on  the  box-sofa,  and  gave  her  little 
white  one  to  Leslie.  We  kept  the  door  open  between. 
We  could  see  the  light  in  grandfather's  northwest  cham 
ber  ;  and  the  lamp  was  still  burning  in  the  porch  below. 
We  could  not  possibly  know  anything ;  whether  Robert 
had  got  back,  and  the  doctor  had  come,  —  whether  he 
was  better  or  worse,  —  whether  father  would  come  home 
to-night.  We  could  only  guess. 

"  O  Leslie,  it  is  so  good  you  are  here  !  "  we  said. 


124  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

There  was  something  eerie  in  the  night,  in  the  wreck 
and  confusion  of  the  storm,  in  our  loneliness  without  fa 
ther  and  mother,  and  in  the  possible  awfulness  and  change 
that  were  so  near,  —  over  there  in  Grandfather  Holabird's 
lighted  room. 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STOKY. 


125 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


HALLOWEEN. 

REAKFAST  was  late  the  next 
morning.  It  had  been  nearly 
two  o'clock  when  father  had 
come  home.  He  told  us  that 
grandfather  was  better ;  that  it 
was  what  the  doctor  called  a 
premonitory  attack :  that  he 
might  have  another  and  more 
serious  one  any  day,  or  that 
he  might  live  on  for  years  with 
out  a  repetition.  For  the  pres 
ent  he  was  to  be  kept  as  easy 
and  quiet  as  possible,  and  grad 
ually  allowed  to  resume  his  old 
habits  as  his  strength  permit 
ted. 

Mother  came  back  in  a  few 
days  more  ;  Aunt  Radford  also 
was  better.  The  family  fell  in 


to  the 


ways  again. 


and  it  was  as  if  no  change  had 
threatened.  Father  told  mother,  however,  something  of 
importance  that  grandfather  had  said  to  him  that  after 
noon,  before  he  was  taken  ill.  He  had  been  on  the  point  of 


126  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

showing  him  something  which  he  looked  for  among  his 
papers,  just  before  the  wind  whirled  them  out  of  his 
hands.  He  had  almost  said  he  would  complete  and  give 
it  to  him  at  once  ;  and  then,  when  they  were  interrupted, 
he  had  just  put  everything  up  again,  and  they  had  walked 
over  home  together.  Then  there  had  been  the  excite 
ment  of  the  gale,  and  grandfather  had  insisted  upon  going 
to  the  barns  himself  to  see  that  all  was  made  properly  fast, 
and  had  come  back  all  out  of  breath,  and  had  been  taken 
with  that  ill  turn  in  the  midst  of  the  storm. 

The  paper  he  was  going  to  show  to  father  was  an  un 
witnessed  deed  of  gift.  He  had  thought  of  securing  to  us 
this  home,  by  giving  it  in  trust  to  father  for  his  wife  and 
children. 

" 1  helped  John  into  his  New  York  business,"  he  said, 
**  by  investing  money  in  it  that  he  has  had  the  use  of,  at 
cnoderate  interest,  ever  since  ;  and  Roderick  and  his  wife 
have  had  their  home  with  me.  None  of  my  boys  ever 
paid  me  any  board.  I  sha'  n't  make  a  will ;  the  law  gives 
things  where  they  belong  ;  there  's  nothing  but  this  that 
wants  evening  ;  and  so  I  've  been  thinking  about  it. 
What  you  do  with  your  share  of  my  other  property  when 
you  get  it  is  no  concern  of  mine  as  I  know  of;  but  I 
should  like  to  give  you  something  in  such  a  shape  that  it 
could  n't  go  for  old  debts.  I  never  undertook  to  shoulder 
any  of  them  ;  what  little  I  've  done  was  done  for  you.  I 
wrote  out  the  paper  myself;  I  never  go  to  lawyers.  I 
suppose  it  would  stand  clear  enough  for  honest  compre 
hension,  —  and  Roderick  and  John  are  both  honest,  —  if 
I  left  it  as  it  is ;  but  perhaps  I  'd  as  well  take  it  some  day 
to  Squire  Hadden,  and  swear  to  it,  and  then  hand  it  over 
to  you.  I  '11  see  about  it." 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY,  127 

That  was  what  grandfather  had  said ;  mother  told 
ns  all  about  it ;  there  were  no  secret  committees  in 
our  domestic  congress  ;  all  was  done  in  open  house  ;  we 
knew  all  the  hopes  and  the  perplexities,  only  they  came 
round  to  us  in  due  order  of  hearing.  But  father  had  not 
really  seen  the  paper,  after  all ;  and  after  grandfather  got 
well,  he  never  mentioned  it  again  all  that  winter.  The 
wonder  was  that  he  had  mentioned  it  at  all. 

u  He  forgets  a  good  many  things,  since  his  sickness," 
father  said,  "  unless  something  comes  up  to  remind  him. 
But  there  is  the  paper  ;  he  must  come  across  that." 

"  He  may  change  his  mind,"  said  mother,  "  even  when 
he  does  recollect.  We  can  be  sure  of  nothing." 

But  we  grew  more  fond  than  ever  of  the  old,  sunshiny 
house.  In  October  Harry  Goldthwaite  went  away  again 
on  a  year's  cruise. 

Rosamond  had  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne,  from 
New  York.  She  folded  it  up  after  she  had  read  it,  and 
did  not  tell  us  anything  about  it.  She  answered  it  next 
day  ;  and  it  was  a  month  later  when  one  night  up  stairs 
she  began  something  she  had  to  say  about  our  winter 
shopping  with,  — 

"  If  I  had  gone  to  New  York  —  "  and  there  she 
stopped,  as  if  she  had  accidentally  said  what  she  did  not 
intend. 

"  If  you  had  gone  to  New  York  !  Why  !  When?  " 
cried  Barbara.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  Rosamond  answered,  in  a  vexed  way. 
"  Mrs.  Van.  Alstyne  asked  me,  that  is  all.  Of  course  I 
could  n't." 

"  Of  course  you  're  just  a  glorious  old  noblesse  oblige-^. ! 


128  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Why  did  n't  you  say  something  ?  You  might  have  gone 
perhaps.  We  could  all  have  helped.  I'd  have  lent 
you  —  that  garnet  and  white  silk  !  " 

Rosamond  would  not  say  anything  more,  and  she  would 
scarcely  be  kissed. 

After  all,  she  had  co-operated  more  than  any  of  us. 
Rose  was  always  the  daughter  who  objected  and  then  did. 
I  have  often  thought  that  young  man  in  Scripture  ought 
to  have  been  a  woman.  It  is  more  a  woman's  way. 

The  maples  were  in  their  gold  and  vermilion  now,  and 
the  round  masses  of  the  ash  were  shining  brown  ;  we 
filled  the  vases  with  their  leaves,  and  pressed  away  more 
in  all  the  big  books  we  could  confiscate,  and  hunted  frosted 
ferns  in  the  wood-edge,  and  had  beautiful  pine  blazes 
morning  and  evening  in  the  brown  room,  and  began  to 
think  how  pleasant,  for  many  cosey  things,  the  winter  was 
going  to  be,  out  here  at  Westover. 

"How  nicely  we  could  keep  Halloween,"  said  Ruth, 
"  round  this  great  open  chimney  !  What  a  row  of  nuts 
we  could  burn  !  " 

"  So  we  will,"  said  Rosamond.  "  We  '11  ask  the  girls. 
May  n't  we,  mother  ?  " 

"To  tea?" 

"  No.  Only  to  the  fun,  —  and  some  supper.  We  can 
have  that  all  ready  in  the  other  room." 

"  They  '11  see  the  cooking-stove." 

"  They  won't  know  it,  when  they  do,"  said  Barbara. 

"  We  might  have  the  table  in  the  front  room,"  sug 
gested  Ruth. 

"  The  drawing-room  !  "  cried  Rosamond.  "  That 
would  be  a  make-shift.  Who  ever  heard  of  having  supper 


WE  GIRLS:  A  HOME  STORY.          129 

there  ?  No ;  we  '11  have  both  rooms  open,  and  a  bright 
fire  in  each,  and  one  up  in  mother's  room  for  them  to  take 
off  their  things.  And  there  '11  be  the  piano,  and  the  ster 
eoscope,  and  the  games,  in  the  parlor.  We  '11  begin  in 
there,  and  out  here  we  '11  have  the  fortune  tricks  and  the 
nuts  later ;  and  then  the  supper,  bravely  and  comfortably, 
in  the  dining-room,  where  it  belongs.  If  they  get  fright 
ened  at  anything,  they  can  go  home  ;  I  'm  going  to  new 
cover  that  screen,  though,  mother ;  And  I  '11  tell  you 
what  with,  —  that  piece  of  goldy-brown  damask  up  in  the 
cedar- trunk.  And  I  '11  put  an  arabesque  of  crimson  braid 
around  it  for  a  border,  and  the  room  will  be  all  goldy- 
brown  and  crimson  then,  and  nobody  will  stop  to  think 
which  is  brocade  and  which  is  waterproof.  They  '11  be 
sitting  on  the  waterproof,  you  know,  and  have  the  bro 
cade  to  look  at.  It 's  just  old  enough  to  seem  as  if  it  had 
always  been  standing  round  somewhere." 

"  It  will  be  just  the  kind  of  party  for  us  to  have,"  said 
Barbara. 

"  They  could  n't  have  it  up  there,  if  they  tried.  It 
would  be  sure  to  be  Marchbanksy." 

Rosamond  smiled  contentedly.  She  was  beginning  to 
recognize  her  own  special  opportunities.  She  was  quite 
conscious  of  her  own  tact  in  utilizing  them. 

But  then  came  the  intricate  questions  of  who  ?  and  who 
not? 

u  Not  everybody,  of  course,"  said  Rose,  "  That  would 
be  a  confusion.  Just  the  neighbors,  —  right  around 
here." 

"  That  takes  in  the  Hobarts,  and  leaves  out  Leslie 
Groldthwaite,"  said  Ruth,  quietly. 
9 


130  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

"  O,  Leslie  will  be  at  the  Haddens',  or  here,"  replied 
Rosamond.  u  Grace  Hobart  is  nice,"  she  went  on  ;  "  if 
only  she  would  n't  be  '  real '  nice  !  " 

"  That  is  just  the  word  for  her,  though,"  said  Ruth. 
"  The  Hobarts  are  real." 

Rosamond's  face  gathered  over.  It  was  not  easy  to 
reconcile  things.  She  liked  them  all,  each  in  their  way. 
If  they  would  only  all  come,  and  like  each  other. 

"  What  is  it,  Rose  ?  >:  said  Barbara,  teasing.  "  Your 
brows  are  knit, — your  nose  is  crocheted,  —  and  your 
mouth  is  —  tatted !  I  shall  have  to  coine  and  ravel  you 
out." 

"  I  'm  thinking  ;  that  is  all." 

"  How  to  build  the  fence?  " 

"  What  fence  ?  " 

"  That  fence  round  the  pond,  —  the  old  puzzle.  There 
was  once  a  pond,  and  four  men  came  and  built  four  little 
houses  round  it,  —  close  to  the  w^ater.  Then  four  other 
men  came  and  built  four  big  houses,  exactly  behind  the 
first  ones.  They  wanted  the  pond  all  to  themselves  ;  but 
the  little  people  were  nearest  to  it ;  how  could  they  build 
the  fence,  you  know  ?  They  had  to  squirm  it  awfully  ! 
You  see  the  plain,  insignificant  people  are  so  apt  to  be 
nearest  the  good  time  !  " 

"  I  like  to  satisfy  everybody." 

"  You  won't,  —  with  a  squirm-fence !  " 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Ruth,  we  should  have  gone  on 
just  as  innocently  as  possible,  and  invited  them  —  March- 
bankses  and  all — to  our  Halloween  frolic.  But  Ruth 
was  such  a  little  news-picker,  with  her  music  lessons? 
She  had  five  scholars  now ;  beside  Lily  and  Reba,  there 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  131 

were  Elsie  Hobart  and  little  Frank  Henaee,  and  Pen 
Pennington,  a  girl  of  her  own  age,  who  had  come  all  the 
way  from  Fort  Vancouver,  over  the  Pacific  Railroad,  to 
live  here  with  her  grandmother.  Between  the  four 
houses,  Ruth  heard  everything. 

All  Saints'  Day  fell  on  Monday ;  the  Sunday  made 
double  hallowing,  Barbara  said;  and  Saturday  was  the 
"  E'en."  We  did  not  mean  to  invite  until  Wednesday  ; 
on  Tuesday  Ruth  came  home  and  told  us  that  Olivia  and 
Adelaide  Marchbanks  were  getting  up  a  Halloween 
themselves,  and  that  the  Haddens  were  asked  already; 
and  that  Lily  and  Reba  were  in  transports  because  they 
were  to  be  allowed  to  go. 

"  Did  you  say  anything?  "  asked  Rosamond. 

"  Yes.  I  suppose  I  ought  not ;  but  Elinor  was  in  the 
room,  and  I  spoke  before  I  thought." 

"  What  did  you  tell  her  ?  " 

"  I  only  said  it  was  such  a  pity  ;  that  you  meant  to  ask 
them  all.  And  Elinor  said  it  would  be  so  nice  here.  If 
it  were  anybody  else,  we  might  try  to  arrange  some^ 
thing." 

But  how  could  we  meddle  with  the  Marchbankses  ? 
With  Olivia  and  Adelaide,  of  all  the  Marchbankses  ? 
We  could  not  take  it  for  granted  that  they  meant  to  ask 
us.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  suggesting  a  compro 
mise.  Rosamond  looked  high  and  splendid,  and  said  not 
another  word. 

In  the  afternoon  of  Wednesday  Adelaide  and  Maud 
Marchbanks  rode  by,  homeward,  on  their  beautiful  little 
brown,  long- tailed  Morgans. 

"  They  don't  mean  to,"  said  Barbara.  "  If  they  did, 
they  would  have  stopped." 


132  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

"  Perhaps  they  will  send  a  note  to-morrow,"  said  Ruth. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  waiting,  in  hopes  ?  "  asked  Rosa 
mond,  in  her  clearest,  quietest  tones. 

Pretty  soon  she  came  in  with  her  hat  on.  "  I  am  going 
over  to  invite  the  Hobarts,"  she  said. 

"  That  will  settle  it,  whatever  happens,"  said  Barbara. 

"Yes,"  said  Rosamond  ;  and  she  walked  out. 

The  Hobarts  were  "  ever  so  much  obliged  to  us;  and 
they  would  certainly  come."  Mrs.  Hobart  lent  Rosa 
mond  an  old  English  book  of  "  Holiday  Sports  and  Ob 
servances,"  with  ten  pages  of  Halloween  charms  in  it. 

From  the  Hobarts'  house  she  walked  on  into  Z , 

and  asked  Leslie  Goldthwaite  and  Helen  Josselyn,  beg 
ging  Mrs.  Ingleside  to  come  too,  if  she  would  ;  the  doctor 
would  call  for  them,  of  course,  and  should  have  his  sup 
per  ;  but  it  was  to  be  a  girl-party  in  the  early  evening. 

Leslie  was  not  at  home ;  Rosamond  gave  the  message 
to  her  mother.  Then  she  met  Lucilla  Waters  in  the 
street. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  you,"  she  said.  She  did  not 
say,  "  coming  to  you,"  for  truly,  in  her  mind,  she  had 
not  decided  it.  But  seeing  her  gentle,  refined  face,  pale 
always  with  the  life  that  had  little  frolic  in  it,  she  spoke 
right  out  to  that,  without  deciding. 

"  We  want  you  at  our  Halloween  party  on  Saturday. 
Will  you  come  ?  You  will  have  Helen  and  the  Ingle- 
sides  to  come  with,  and  perhaps  Leslie." 

Rosamond,  even  while  delivering  her  message  to  Mrs. 
Goldthwaite  for  Leslie,  had  seen  an  unopened  note  lying 
upon  the  table,  addressed  to  her  in  the  sharp,  tall  hand  of 
Olivia  Marchbanks. 


WE   GIRLS;    A  HOME   STORY.  133 

She  stopped  in  at  the  Haddens,  told  them  how  sorry 
she  had  been  to  find  they  were  promised  ;  asked  if  it  were 
any  use  to  go  to  the  Hendees' ;  and  when  Elinor  said, 
u  But  you  will  be  sure  to  be  asked  to  the  Marchbankses 
yourselves,"  replied,  "  It  is  a  pity  they  should  come  to 
gether,  but  we  had  quite  made  up  our  minds  to  have  this 
little  frolic,  and  we  have  begun,  too,  you  see." 

Then  she  did  go  to  the  Hendees',  although  it  was 
dark  ;  and  Maria  Hendee,  who  seldom  went  out  to  par 
ties,  promised  to  come.  "  They  would  divide,"  she  said. 
"  Fanny  might  go  to  Olivia's.  Holiday-keeping  was  dif 
ferent  from  other  invites.  One  might  take  liberties." 

Now  the  Hendees  were  people  who  could  take  liberties, 
if  anybody.  Last  of  all,  Rosamond  went  in  and  asked 
Pen  Pennington. 

It  was  Thursday,  just  at  dusk,  when  Adelaide  March- 
banks  walked  over,  at  last,  and  proffered  her  invitation. 

"  You  had  better  all  come  to  us,"  she  said,  graciously. 
"  It  is  a  pity  to  divide.  We  want  the  same  people,  of 
course,  —  the  Hendees,  and  the  Haddens,  and  Leslie.'' 
She  hardly  attempted  to  disguise  that  we  ourselves  were 
an  afterthought. 

Rosamond  told  her,  very  sweetly,  that  we  were  obliged, 
but  that  she  was  afraid  it  was  quite  too  late ;  we  had 
asked  others  ;  the  Hobarts,  and  the  Inglesides  ;  one  or 
two  whom  Adelaide  did  not  know,  —  Helen  Josselyn, 
and  Lucilla  Waters;  the  parties  would  not  interfere 
much,  after  all. 

Rosamond  took  up,  as  it  were,  a  little  sceptre  of  her 
own,  from  that  moment. 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  had  been  away  for  three  days,  stay 


134  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

ing  with  her  friend,  Mrs.  Frank  Scherman,  in  Boston. 
She  had  found  Olivia's  note,  of  Monday  evening,  when 
she  returned  ;  also,  she  heard  of  Rosamond's  verbal  in 
vitation.  Leslie  was  very  bright  about  these  things.  She 
saw  in  a  moment  how  it  had  been.  Her  mother  told  her 
what  Rosamond  had  said  of  who  were  coming,  —  the  Ho- 
barts  and  Helen  ;  the  rest  were  not  then  asked." 

Olivia  did  not  like  it  very  well,  —that  reply  of  Les 
lie's.  She  showed  it  to  Jeannie  Hadden ;  that  was  how 
we  came  to  know  of  it. 

"  Please  forgive  me,"  the  note  ran,  "  if  I  accept  Rosa 
mond's  invitation  for  the  very  reason  that  might  seem  to 
oblige  me  to  decline  it.  I  see  you  have  two  days'  advan 
tage  of  her,  and  she  will  no  doubt  lose  some  of  the  girls  by 
that.  I  really  heard  hers  first.  I  wish  very  much  it 
were  possible  to  have  both  pleasures." 

That  was    being   terribly  true    and  independent  with 

West  Z .     «  But  Leslie  Goldthwaite,"  Barbara  said, 

"  always  was  as  brave  as  a  little  bumble-bee  !  " 

How  it  had  come  over  Rosamond,  though,  we  could 
not  quite  understand.  It  was  not  pique,  or  rivalry; 
there  was  no  excitement  about  it ;  it  seemed  to  be  a  pure, 
spirited  dignity  of  her  own,  which  she  all  at  once,  quietly 
and  of  course,  asserted. 

Mother  said  something  about  it  to  her  Saturday  morn 
ing,  when  she  was  beating  up  Italian  cream,  and  Rosa 
mond  was  cutting  chicken  for  the  salad.  The  cakes  and 
the  jellies  had  been  made  the  day  before. 

"  You  have  done  this,  Rosamond,  in  a  very  right  and 
neighborly  way,  but  it  is  n't  exactly  your  old  way.  Hotf 
came  you  not  to  mind  ?  " 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  135 

Rosamond  did  not  discuss  the  matter  ;  she  only  smiled 
and  said,  "  I  think,  mother,  I  'm  growing  very  proud  and 
self-sufficient,  since  we  've  had  real,  through-and-through 
ways  of  our  own." 

It  was  the  difference  between  "  somewhere  "  and  "  be 
twixt  and  between." 

Miss  Elizabeth  Pennington  came  in  while  we  were 
putting  candles  in  the  bronze  branches,  and  Ruth  was 
laying  an  artistic  fire  in  the  wide  chimney.  Ruth  could 
make  a  picture  with  her  crossed  and  balanced  sticks,  slop 
ing  the  firm-built  pile  backward  to  the  two  great,  solid 
logs  behind,  —  a  picture  which  it  only  needed  the  touch 
of  flame  to  finish  and  perfect.  Then  the  dazzling  fire- 
wreaths  curled  and  clasped  through  and  about  it  all,  fill 
ing  the  spaces  with  a  rushing  splendor,  and  reaching  up 
their  vivid  spires  above  its  compact  body  to  an  outline  of 
complete  live  beauty.  Ruth's  fires  satisfied  you  to  look 
at :  and  they  never  tumbled  down. 

She  rose  up  with  a  little  brown,  crooked  stick  in  one 
hand,  to  speak  to  Miss  Pennington. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  said  the  lady.  "  Go  on,  please, 
'  biggin'  your  castle.'  That  will  be  a  pretty  sight  to  see, 
when  it  lights  up." 

Ruth  liked  crooked  sticks  ;  they  held  fast  by  each 
other,  and  they  made  pretty  curves  and  openings.  So 
she  went  on,  laying  them  deftly. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  here  to-night,"  said  Miss  Elizabeth, 
still  looking  at  the  fire-pile.  "  Would  you  let  an  old  maid 
in?" 

u  Miss  Pennington  !     Would  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  took  it  in  my  head  to  want  to.      That  was  why 


136  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

I  came  over.     Are  you  going  to  play  snap-dragon  ?     I 
wondered  if  you  had  thought  of  that." 

"  We  don't  know  about  it,"  said  Ruth.  "  Anything, 
that  is,  except  the  name." 

•'  That  is  just  what  I  thought  possible.  Nobody  knows 
those  old  games  nowadays.  May  I  come  and  bring  a  great 
dragon-bowl  with  me,  and  superintend  that  part  ?  Mother 
got  her  fate  out  of  a  snap-dragon,  and  we  have  the  identi 
cal  bowl.  We  always  used  to  bring  it  out  at  Christmas, 
when  we  were  all  at  home." 

"  O  Miss  Pennington  !  How  perfectly  lovely  !  How 
good  you  are  !  " 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  take  it  so.  I  was  afraid  it  was 
terribly  meddlesome.  But  the  fancy  —  or  the  memory  — 
seized  me." 

How  wonderfully  our  Halloween  party  was  turning 
out! 

And  the  turning-out  is  almost  the  best  part  of  anything ; 
the  time  when  things  are  getting  together,  in  the  beauti 
ful  prosperous  way  they  will  take,  now  and  then,  even  in 
this  vexed  world. 

There  was  our  lovely  little  supper-table  all  ready. 
People  who  have  servants  enough,  high-trained,  to  do 
these  things  while  they  are  entertaining  in  the  drawing- 
room,  don't  have  half  the  pleasure,  after  all,  that  we  do, 
in  setting  out  hours  beforehand,  and  putting  the  last 
touches  and  taking  the  final  satisfaction  before  we  go  to 
dress. 

The  cake,  with  the  ring  in  it,  was  in  the  middle  ;  for 
we  had  put  together  all  the  fateful  and  pretty  customs  we 
could  think  of,  from  whatever  holiday  ;  there  were  moth- 


WE   GIRLS  :    A  HOME   STORY.  137 


er's 


Italian  creams,  and  amber  and  garnet  wine  jellies  ; 
there  were  sponge  and  lady-cake,  and  the  little  macaroons 
and  cocoas  that  Barbara  had  the  secret  of ;  and  the  salad, 
of  spring  chickens  and  our  own  splendid  celery,  was  ready 
in  the  cold  room,  with  its  bowl  of  delicious  dressing  to  be 
poured  over  it  at  the  last ;  and  the  scalloped  oysters  were 
in  the  pantry ;  Ruth  was  to  put  them  into  the  oven  again 
when  the  time  came,  and  mother  would  pin  the  white 
napkins  around  the  dishes,  and  set  them  on ;  and  nobody 
was  to  worry  or  get  tired  with  having  the  whole  to  think 
of;  and  yet  the  whole  would  be  done,  to  the  very  light 
ing  of  the  candles,  which  Stephen  had  spoken  for,  by  this 
beautiful,  organized  co-operation  of  ours.  Truly  it  is  a 
charming  thing,  —  all  to  itself,  in  a  family  ! 

To  be  sure,  we  had  coffee  and  bread  and  butter  and 
cold  ham  for  dinner  that  day  ;  and  we  took  our  tea 
"  standed  round,"  as  Barbara  said  ;  and  the  dishes  were 
put  away  in  the  covered  sink  ;  we  knew  where  we  could 
shirk  righteously  and  in  good  order,  when  we  could  not 
accomplish  everything  ;  but  there  was  neither  huddle  nor 
hurry ;  we  were  as  quiet  and  comfortable  as  we  could  be. 
Even  Rosamond  was  satisfied  with  the  very  manner  ;  to 
be  composed  is  always  to  be  elegant.  Anybody  might 
have  come  in  and  lunched  with  us  ;  anybody  might  have 
shared  that  easy,  chatty  cup  of  tea. 

The  front  parlor  did  not  amount  to  much,  after  all, 
pleasant  and  pretty  as  it  was  for  the  first  receiving ;  we 
were  all  too  eager  for  the  real  business  of  the  evening.  It 
was  bright  and  warm  with  the  wood-fire  and  the  lights  ; 
and  the  white  curtains,  nearly  filling  up  three  of  its  walls, 
made  it  very  festal-looking.  There  was  the  open  piano, 


138  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

and  Ruth  played  a  little ;  there  was  the  stereoscope,  and 
some  of  the  girls  looked  over  the  new  views  of  Catskill 
and  the  Hudson  that  Dakie  Thayne  had  given  us  ;  there 
was  the  table  with  cards,  and  we  played  one  game  of 
Old  Maid,  in  which  the  Old  Maid  got  lost  mysteriously 
into  the  drawer,  and  everybody  was  married  ;  and  then 
Miss  Pennington  appeared  at  the  door,  with  her  man-ser 
vant  behind  her,  and  there  was  an  end.  She  took  the 
big  bowl,  pinned  over  with  a  great  damask  napkin,  out  of 
the  man's  hands,  and  went  off  privately  with  Barbara  into 
the  dining-room. 

"  This  is  the  Snap,"  she  said,  unfastening  the  cover,  and 
producing  from  within  a  paper  parcel.  "  And  that," 
holding  up  a  little  white  bottle,  "  is  the  Dragon."  And 
Barbara  set  all  away  in  the  dresser  until  after  supper. 
Then  we  got  together,  without  further  ceremony,  in  the 
brown  room. 

We  hung  wedding-rings  —  we  had  mother's,  and  Miss 
Elizabeth  had  brought  over  Madam  Pennington's  —  by 
hairs,  and  held  them  inside  tumblers  ;  and  they  vibrated 
with  our  quickening  pulses,  and  swung  and  swung,  until 
they  rung  out  fairy  chimes  of  destiny  against  the  sides. 
We  floated  needles  in  a  great  basin  of  water,  and  gave 
them  names,  and  watched  them  turn  and  swim  and  draw 
together,  —  some  point  to  point,  some  heads  and  points, 
some  joined  cosily  side  to  side,  while  some  drifted  to  the 
margin  and  clung  there  all  alone,  and  some  got  tears  in 
their  eyes,  or  an  interfering  jostle,  and  went  down.  We 
melted  lead  and  poured  it  into  water ;  and  it  took  strange 
shapes ;  of  spears  and  masts  and  stars ;  and  some  all 
went  to  money ;  and  one  was  a  queer  little  bottle  and 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

pills,  and  one  was  pencils  and  artists'  tubes,  and  —  really 
—  a  little  palette  with  a  hole  in  it. 

And  then  came  the  chestnut-roasting,  before  the  bright 
red  coals.  Each  girl  put  down  a  pair  ;  and  I  dare  say 
most  of  them  put  down  some  little  secret,  girlish  thought 
with  it.  The  ripest  nuts  burned  steadiest  and  surest,  of 
course ;  but  how  could  we  tell  these  until  we  tried  ? 
Some  little  crack,  or  unseen  worm-hole,  would  keep  one 
still,  while  its  companion  would  pop  off,  away  from  it ; 
some  would  take  flight  together,  and  land  in  like  manner, 
without  ever  parting  company  ;  these  were  to  go  some 
long  way  off;  some  never  moved  from  where  they  began, 
but  burned  up,  stupidly  and  peaceably,  side  by  side. 


140  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

Some  snapped  into  the  fire.  Some  went  off  into  corners. 
Some  glowed  beautiful,  and  some  burned  black,  and  some 
got  covered  up  with  ashes. 

Barbara's  pair  were  ominously  still  for  a  time,  when 
all  at  once  the  larger  gave  a  sort  of  unwilling  lurch,  with 
out  popping,  and  rolled  off  a  little  way,  right  in  toward  the 
blaze. 

"  Gone  to  a  warmer  climate,"  whispered  Leslie,  like  a 
tease.  And  then  crack !  the  warmer  climate,  or  some 
thing  else,  sent  him  back  again,  with  a  real  bound,  just  as 
Barbara's  gave  a  gentle  little  snap,  and  they  both  dropped 
quietly  down  against  the  fender  together. 

"  What  made  that  jump  back,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  Pen 
Pennington. 

"  O,  it  was  n't  more  than  half  cracked  when  it  went 
away,"  said  Stephen,  looking  on. 

Who  would  be  bold  enough  to  try  the  looking-glass  ? 
To  go  out  alone  with  it  into  the  dark  field,  walking  back 
ward,  saying  the  rhyme  to  the  stars  which  if  there  had 
been  a  moon  ought  by  right  to  have  been  said  to  her :  — 

"  Kound  and  round,  0  stars  so  fair  ! 
Ye  travel,  and  search  out  everywhere. 
I  pray  you,  sweet  stars,  now  show  to  me, 
This  night,  who  my  future  husband  shall  be  !  " 

Somehow,  we  put  it  upon  Leslie.  She  was  the  oldest ; 
we  made  that  the  reason. 

"  I  would  n't  do  it  for  anything !  "  said  Sarah  Hobart. 
"  I  heard  of  a  girl  who  tried  it  once,  and  saw  a  shroud !  " 

But  Leslie  was  full  of  fun  that  evening,  and  ready  to 
do  anything.  She  took  the  little  mirror  that  Ruth  brought 
her  from  up  stairs,  put  on  a  shawl,  and  we  all  went  to  the 
front  door  with  her,  to  see  her  off. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  141 

"  Round  the  piazza,  and  down  the  bank,"  said  Barbara, 
"  and  backward  all  the  way." 

So  Leslie  backed  out  at  the  door,  and  we  shut  it  upon 
her.  The  instant  after,  we  heard  a  great  laugh.  Off  the 
piazza,  she  had  stepped  backward,  directly  against  two 
gentlemen  coming  in. 

Doctor  Ingleside  was  one,  coming  to  get  his  supper ; 

the  other  was  a  friend  of  his,  just  arrived  in  Z . 

"  Doctor  John  Hautayne,"  he  said,  introducing  him  by  his 
full  name. 

We  knew  why.  He  was  proud  of  it.  Doctor  John 
Hautayne  was  the  army  surgeon  who  had  been  with  him 
in  the  Wilderness,  and  had  ridden  a  stray  horse  across 
a  battle-field,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  right  in  front  of  a  Rebel 
battery,  to  get  to  some  wounded  on  the  other  side.  And 
the  Rebel  gunners,  holding  their  halyards,  stood  still  and 
shouted. 

It  put  an  end  to  the  tricks,  except  the  snap-dragon. 

We  had  not  thought  how  late  it  was ;  but  mother  and 
Ruth  had  remembered  the  oysters. 

Doctor  John  Hautayne  took  Leslie  out  to  supper.  We 
saw  him  look  at  her  with  a  funny,  twinkling  curiosity,  as 
he  stood  there  with  her  in  the  full  light ;  and  we  all  thought 
we  had  never  seen  Leslie  look  prettier  in  all  her  life. 

After  supper,  Miss  Pennington  lighted  up  her  Dragon, 
and  threw  in  her  snaps.  A  very  little  brandy,  and  a  bowl 
full  of  blaze. 

Maria  Hendee  "  snapped "  first,  and  got  a  preserved 
date. 

"Ancient  and  honorable,"  said  Miss  Pennington,  laugh 
ing. 


142  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

Then  Pen  Pennington  tried,  and  got  nothing. 

"You  thought  of  your  own  fingers,"  said  her  aunt. 

"  A  fig  for  my  fortune  !  "  cried  Barbara,  holding  up  her 
trophy. 

"  It  came  from  the  Mediterranean,"  said  Mrs.  Ingleside, 
over  her  shoulder  into  her  ear ;  and  the  ear  burned. 

Ruth  got  a  sugared  almond. 

"  Only  a  kernel,^  said  the  merry  doctor's  wife,  again. 

The  doctor  himself  tried,  and  seized  a  slip  of  candied 
flag. 

"  Warm-hearted  and  useful,  that  is  all,"  said  Mrs.  In- 
gleside. 

"  And  tolerably  pungent,"  said  the  doctor. 

Doctor  Hautayne  drew  forth  —  angelica. 

Most  of  them  were  too  timid  or  irresolute  to  grasp  any 
thing. 

u  That  's  the  analogy,"  said  Miss  Pennington.  "  One 
must  take  the  risk  of  getting  scorched.  It  is  4  the  woman 
who  dares,'  after  all." 

It  was  great  fun,  though. 

Mother  cut  the  cake.  That  was  the  last  sport  of  the 
evening. 

If  I  should  tell  you  who  got  the  ring,  you  would  think 
it  really  meant  something.  And  the  year  is  not  out  yet, 
you  see. 

But  there  was  no  doubt  of  one  thing,  —  that  our  Hal 
loween  at  Westover  was  a  famous  little  party. 

"  How  do  you  all  feel  about  it  ?  "  asked  Barbara,  sitting 
down  on  the  hearth  in  the  brown  room,  before  the  embers, 
and  throwing  the  nuts  she  had  picked  up  about  the  carpet 
into  the  coals. 


WE   GIELS:     A   HOME   STORY.  143 

We  had  carried  the  supper-dishes  away  into  the  out- 
room,  and  set  them  on  a  great  spare  table  that  we  kept 
there.  "  The  room  is  as  good  as  the  girl,"  said  Barbara. 
It  is  a  comfort  to  put  by  things,  with  a  clear  conscience, 
to  a  more  rested  time.  We  should  let  them  be  over  the 
Sunday  ;  Monday  morning  would  be  all  china  and  soap 
suds  ;  then  there  would  be  a  nice,  freshly  arrayed  dresser, 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  we  should  have  had  both  a  party 
and  a  piece  of  fall  cleaning. 

"  How  do  you  feel  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  we  had  had  a  real  own  party,  ourselves," 
said  Ruth  ;  "  not  as  if « the  girls '  had  come  and  had  a 
party  here.  There  was  n't  anybody  to  show  us  how  !  " 

"  Except  Miss  Pennington.  And  was  n't  it  bewitchi- 
nating  of  her  to  come  ?  Nobody  can  say  now  —  " 

"  What  do  you  say  it  for,  then  ?  "  interrupted  Rosa 
mond.  "  It  was  very  nice  of  Miss  Pennington,  and  kind, 
considering  it  was  a  young  party.  Otherwise,  why  should 
n't  she  ?  " 


144 


WE  GIRLS:  A  HOME  STORY. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

WINTER   NIGHTS    AND    WINTER   DAYS. 


HAT  was  a  nice  party,"  said 
Miss  Pennington,  walking  home 
with  Leslie  and  Doctor  John 
Hautayne,  behind  the  Ingle- 
sides.  "  What  made  it  so 
nice  ?  " 

"  You,  very  much,"  said  Les 
lie,  straightforwardly. 

"  I  did  n't  begin  it,"  said  Miss 
Elizabeth.  "  No  ;  that  was  n't 
it.  It  was  a  step  out,  somehow. 
Out  of  the  treadmill.  I  got 
tired  of  parties  long  ago,  before 
I  was  old.  They  were  all  alike. 
The  only  difference  was  that  in 
one  house  the  staircase  went  up 
on  the  right  side  of  the  hall, 
and  in  another  on  the  left, — 
now  and  then,  perhaps,  at  the 
back ;  and  when  you  came  down  again,  the  lady  near  the 
drawing-room  door  might  be  Mrs.  Hendee  one  night  and 
Mrs.  Marchbanks  another ;  but  after  that  it  was  all  the 
same.  And  O,  how  I  did  get  to  hate  ice-cream  !  " 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  145 

"  This  was  a  party  of  '  nexts,'  "  said  Leslie,  "  instead 
of  a  selfsame." 

"  What  a  good  time  Miss  Waters  had  —  quietly !  You 
could  see  it  in  her  face.  A  pretty  face  !  "  Miss  Elizabeth 
spoke  in  a  lower  tone,  for  Lucilla  was  just  before  the 
Inglesides,  with  Helen  and  Pen  Pennington.  "She 
works  too  hard,  though.  I  wish  she  came  out  more." 

"  The  '  nexts  '  have  to  get  tired  of  books  and  mending- 
baskets,  while  the  firsts  are  getting  tired  of  ice-creams," 
replied  Leslie.  "  Dear  Miss  Pennington,  there  are  ever 
so  many  nexts,  and  people  don't  think  anything  about 
it!" 

"  So  there  are,"  said  Miss  Elizabeth,  quietly.  "  Peo 
ple  are  very  stupid.  They  don't  know  what  will  freshen 
themselves  up.  They  think  the  trouble  is  with  the  con 
fectionery,  and  so  they  try  macaroon  and  pistachio  instead 
of  lemon  and  vanilla.  Fresh  people  are  better  than  fresh 
flavors.  But  I  think  we  had  everything  fresh  to-night. 
What  a  beautiful  old  home-y  house  it  is !  " 

"And  what  a  home-y  family!"  said  Doctor  John 
Hautayne. 

"  We  have  an  old  home-y  house,"  said  Miss  Penning 
ton,  suddenly,  "  with  landscape-papered  walls  and  cosey, 
deep  windows  and  big  chimneys.  And  we  don't  half  use 
it.  Doctor  Hautayne,  I  mean  to  have  a  party!  Will 
you  stay  and  come  to  it?" 

u  Any  time  within  my  two  months'  leave,"  replied 
Doctor  Hautayne,  "  and  with  very  great  pleasure." 

"  So  she  will  have  it  before  very  long,"  said  Leslie, 
telling  us  about  the  talk  the  next  day. 

It !  Well,  when  Miss  Pennington  took  up  a  thing  she 
10 


146  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

did  take  it  up !     That  does  not  come  in  here,  though,  — . 
any  more  of  it. 

The  Penningtons  are  very  proud  people.  They  have 
not  a  very  great  deal  of  money,  like  the  Haddens,  and 
they  are  not  foremost  in  everything  like  the  March- 
bankses  ;  somehow  they  do  not  seem  to  care  to  take  the 
trouble  for  that ;  but  they  are  so  established  ;  it  is  a  fam 
ily  like  an  old  tree,  that  is  past  its  green  branching  time, 
and  makes  little  spread  or  summer  show,  but  whose  roots 
reach  out  away  underneath,  and  grasp  more  ground  than 
all  the  rest  put  together. 

They  live  in  an  old  house  that  is  just  like  them.  It 
has  not  a  new-fashioned  thing  about  it.  The  walls  are 
square,  plain  brick,  painted  gray;  and  there  is  a  low, 
broad  porch  in  front,  and  then  terraces,  flagged  with 
gray  stone  and  bordered  with  flower-beds  at  each  side 
and  below.  They  have  peacocks  and  guinea-hens,  and 
more  roses  and  lilies  and  larkspurs  and  foxgloves  and  nar 
cissus  than  flowers  of  any  newer  sort ;  and  there  are  great 
bushes  of  box  and  southernwood,  that  smell  sweet  as  you 
goty- 

Old  General  Pennington  had  been  in  the  army  all  his 
life.  He  was  a  captain  at  Lundy's  Lane,  and  got  a  wound 
there  which  gave  him  a  stiff  elbow  ever  after ;  and  his 
oldest  son  was  killed  in  Mexico,  just  after  he  had  been 
brevetted  Major.  There  is  a  Major  Pennington  now,  — 
the  younger  brother,  —  out  at  Fort  Vancouver ;  and  he 
is  Pen's  father.  When  her  mother  died,  away  out  there, 
he  had  to  send  her  home.  The  Penningtons  are  just  as 
proud  as  the  stars  and  stripes  themselves  ;  and  their  glory 
is  off  the  selfsame  piece. 


WE   GIRLS:     A  HOME   STORY.  147 

They  made  very  much  of  Dakie  Thayne  when  he  was 
here,  in  their  quiet,  retired  way;  and  they  had  always 
been  polite  and  cordial  to  the  Inglesides. 

One  morning,  a  little  while  after  our  party,  mother  was 
making  an  apple-pudding  for  dinner,  when  Madam  Pen- 
nington  and  Miss  Elizabeth  drove  round  to  the  door. 

cT> 

Ruth  was  out  at  her  lessons  ;  Barbara  was  busy  help 
ing  Mrs.  Holabird.  Rosamond  went  to  the  door,  and  let 
them  into  the  brown  room. 

"  Mother  will  be  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  but  she 
will  come  directly.  She  is  just  in  the  middle  of  an  apple- 
pudding." 

Rosamond  said  it  with  as  much  simple  grace  of  pride  as 
if  she  had  had  to  say,  "  Mother  is  busy  at  her  modelling, 
and  cannot  leave  her  clay  till  she  has  damped  and  cov 
ered  it."  Her  nice  perception  went  to  the  very  farther 
most  ;  it  discerned  the  real  best  to  be  made  of  things,  the 
best  that  was  ready  made,  and  put  that  forth. 

"  And  I  know,"  said  Madam  Pennington,  "  that  an 
apple-pudding  must  not  be  left  in  the  middle.  I  wonder 
if  she  would  let  an  old  woman  who  has  lived  in  barracks 
come  to  her  where  she  is  ?  " 

Rosamond's  tact  was  superlative.  She  did  not  say,  "  I 
will  go  and  see  "  ;  she  got  right  up  and  said,  "  I  am  sure 
she  will ;  please  come  this  way,"  and  opened  the  door, 
with  a  sublime  confidence,  full  and  without  warning,  upon 
the  scene  of  operations. 

"  O,  how  nice ! "  said  Miss  Elizabeth ;  and  Madam 
Pennington  walked  forward  into  the  sunshine,  holding  her 
hand  out  to  Mrs.  Holabird,  and  smiling  all  the  way  from 
her  smooth  old  forehead  down  to  the  u  seventh  beauty  " 
of  her  dimple-cleft  and  placid  chin. 


148  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

"  Why,  this  is  really  coming  to  see  people  !  "  she  said. 

Mrs.  Holabird's  white  hand  did  not  even  want  dusting ; 
she  just  laid  down  the  bright  little  chopper  with  which  she 
was  reducing  her  flour  and  butter  to  a  golden  powder, 
and  took  Madam  Pennington's  nicely  gloved  fingers  into 
her  own,  without  a  breath  of  apology.  Apology  !  It  was 
very  meek  of  her  not  to  look  at  all  set  up. 

Barbara  rose  from  her  chair  with  a  red  ringlet  of  apple- 
paring  hanging  down  against  her  white  apron,  and  seated 
herself  again  at  her  work  when  the  visitors  had  taken  the 
two  opposite  corners  of  the  deep,  cushioned  sofa. 

The  red  cloth  was  folded  back  across  the  end  of  the 
dining-table,  and  at  the  other  end  were  mother's  white 
board  and  rolling-pin,  the  pudding-cloth  wrung  into  a  twist 
out  of  the  scald,  and  waiting  upon  a  plate,  and  a  pitcher 
of  cold  water  with  ice  tinkling  against  its  sides.  Mother 
sat  with  the  deal  bowl  in  her  lap,  turning  and  mincing 
with  the  few  last  strokes  the  light,  delicate  dust  of  the 
pastry.  The  sunshine  —  work  and  sunshine  always  go  so 
blessedly  together  —  poured  in,  and  filled  the  room  up 
with  life  and  glory. 

"  Why,  this  is  the  pleasantest  room  in  all  your  house  !  " 
said  Miss  Elizabeth. 

"  That  is  just  what  Ruth  said  it  would  be  when  we 
turned  it  into  a  kitchen,"  said  Barbara. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  this  is  really  your  kitchen ! " 

"  I  don't  think  we  are  quite  sure  what  it  is,"  replied 
Barbara,  laughing.  "  We  either  dine  in  our  kitchen  or 
kitch  in  our  dining-room  ;  and  I  don't  believe  we  have 
found  out  yet  which  it  is  !  " 

"  You  are  wonderful  people  !  " 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  149 

"  You  ought  to  have  belonged  to  the  army,  and  lived 
in  quarters,"  said  Mrs.  Pennington.  "  Only  you  would 
have  made  your  rooms  so  bewitching  you  would  have  been 
always  getting  turned  out." 

"Turned  out?" 

"  Yes  ;  by  the  ranking  family.  That  is  the  way  they 
do.  The  major  turns  out  the  captain,  and  the  colonel  the 
major.  There  's  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  your  foot  till  you  're 
a  general." 

Mrs.  Holabird  set  her  bowl  on  the  table,  and  poured  in 
the  ice-water.  Then  the  golden  dust,  turned  and  cut 
lightly  by  the  chopper,  gathered  into  a  tender,  mellow 
mass,  and  she  lifted  it  out  upon  the  board.  She  shook 
out  the  scalded  cloth,  spread  it  upon  the  emptied  bowl, 
sprinkled  it  snowy-thick  with  flour,  rolled  out  the  crust 
with  a  free  quick  movement,  and  laid  it  on,  into  the  curve 
of  the  basin.  Barbara  brought  the  apples,  cut  up  in  white 
fresh  slices,  and  slid  them  into  the  round.  Mrs.  Holabird 
folded  over  the  edges,  gathered  up  the  linen  cloth  in  her 
hands,  tied  it  tightly  with  a  string,  and  Barbara  disap 
peared  with  it  behind  the  damask  screen,  where  a  puff  of 
steam  went  up  in  a  minute  that  told  the  pudding  was  in. 
Then  Mrs.  Holabird  went  into  the  pantry-closet  and 
washed  her  hands,  that  never  really  came  to  need  more 
than  a  finger-bowl  could  do  for  them,  and  Barbara  carried 
after  her  the  board  and  its  etceteras,  and  the  red  cloth 
was  drawn  on  again,  and  there  was  nothing  but  a  low, 
comfortable  bubble  in  the  chimney-corner  to  tell  of  house 
wifery  or  dinner. 

"  I  wish  it  had  lasted  longer,"  said  Miss  Elizabeth.  "  I 
am  afraid  I  shall  feel  like  company  again  now." 


150  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

u  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  what  I  came  for,"  said  Mad 
am  Pennington.     "  It  was  to  ask  about  a  girl.     Can  I  do 
anything  with  Winny  Lafferty  ?  " 

"I  wish  you  could,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird,  benevolently. 

"  She  needs  doing  with  "  said  Barbara. 

"  Your  having  her  would  be  different  from  our  doing 
so,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird.  u  I  often  think  that  one  of  the 
tangles  in  the  girl-question  is  the  mistake  of  taking  the 
rawest  specimens  into  families  that  keep  but  one.  With 
your  Lucy,  it  might  be  the  very  making  of  Winny  to  go 
to  you." 

"  The  «  next '  for  her,  as  Ruth  would  say,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Yes.  The  least  little  thing  that  comes  next  is  better 
than  a  world  full  of  wisdom  away  off  beyond.  There  is 
too  much  in  4  general  housework  '  for  one  ignorant,  inex 
perienced  brain  to  take  in.  "  What  should  we  think  of  a 
government  that  gave  out  its  <  general  field-work  '  so  ?  " 

"  There  won't  be  any  Lucys  long,"  said  Madam  Pen 
nington,  with  a  sigh.  "  What  are  homes  coming  to  ?  " 

"  Back  to  homes,  I  hope,  from  houses  divided  against 
themselves  into  parlors  and  kitchens,"  said  mother,  earnest 
ly.  "  If  I  should  tell  you  all  I  think  about  it,  you  would 
say  it  was  visionary,  I  am  afraid.  But  I  believe  we  have 
got  to  go  back  to  first  principles ;  and  then  the  Lucys  will 
grow  again." 

"  Modern  establishments  are  not  homes  truly,"  said 
Madam  Pennington. 

"  We  shall  call  them  by  their  names,  as  the  French  do, 
if  we  go  on,"  said  mother,  —  u  hotels." 

"  And  how  are  we  to  stop,  or  help  it  ?  The  enemy  has 
got  possession.  Irishocracy  is  a  despotism  in  the  land." 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  151 

"  Only,"  said  mother,  in  her  sweetest,  most  heartfelt 
way,  "  by  learning  how  true  it  is  that  one  must  be  chief 
to  really  serve  ;  that  it  takes  the  highest  to  do  perfect 
ministering ;  that  the  brightest  grace  and  the  most  beau 
tiful  culture  must  come  to  bear  upon  this  little,  every-day 
living,  which  is  all  that  the  world  works  for  after  all.  The 
whole  heaven  is  made  that  just  the  daily  bread  for  human 
souls  may  come  down  out  of  it.  Only  the  Lord  God  can 
pour  this  room  full  of  little  waves  of  sunshine,  and  make 
a  still,  sweet  morning  in  the  earth." 

Mother  and  Madam  Pennington  looked  at  each  other 
with  soulful  eyes. 

"'We  girls,""  began  mother  again,  smiling,  —  "for 
that  is  the  way  the  children  count  me  in,  —  said  to  each 
other,  when  we  first  tried  this  new  plan,  that  we  would 
make  an  art-kitchen.  We  meant  we  would  have  things 
nice  and  pretty  for  our  common  work  ;  but  there  is  some 
thing  behind  that,  —  the  something  that  '  makes  the 
meanest  task  divine,'  —  the  spiritual  correspondence  of  it. 
When  we  are  educated  up  to  that  I  think  life  and  society 
will  be  somewhat  different.  I  think  we  shall  not  always 
stop  short  at  the  drawing-room,  and  pretend!  at  each  other 
on  the  surface  of  things.  I  think  the  time  may  come 
when  young  girls  and  single  women  will  be  as  willing, 
and  think  it  as  honorable,  to  go  into  homes  which  they 
need,  and  which  need  them,  and  give  the  best  that  they 
have  grown  to  into  the  commonwealth  of  them,  as  they 
are  willing  now  to  educate  and  try  for  public  places.  And 
it  will  seem  to  them  as  great  and  beautiful  a  thing  to  do. 
They  won't  be  buried,  either.  When  they  take  the  work 
up,  and  glorify  it,  it  will  glorify  them.  We  don't  know 


152  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

yet  what  households  might  be,  if  now  we  have  got  the 
wheels  so  perfected,  we  would  put  the  living  spirit  into 
the  wheels.  They  are  the  motive  power  ;  homes  are  the 
primary  meetings.  They  would  be  little  kingdoms,  of 
great  might !  I  wish  women  would  be  content  with  their 
mainspring  work,  and  not  want  to  go  out  and  point  the 
time  upon  the  dial !  " 

Mother  never  would  have  made  so  long  a  speech,  but 
that  beautiful  old  Mrs.  Pennington  was  answering  her  back 
all  the  time  out  of  her  eyes.  There  was  such  a  magnet 
ism  between  them  for  the  moment,  that  she  scarcely  knew 
she  was  saying  it  all.  The  color  came  up  in  their  cheeks, 
and  they  were  young  and  splendid,  both  of  them.  We 
thought  it  was  as  good  a  Woman's  Convention  as  if  there 
had  been  two  thousand  of  them  instead  of  two.  And 
when  some  of  the  things  out  of  the  closets  get  up  on  the 
house-tops,  maybe  it  will  prove  so. 

Madam  Pennington  leaned  over  and  kissed  mother 
when  she  took  her  hand  at  going  away.  And  then  Miss 
Elizabeth  spoke  out  suddenly,  — 

"  I  have  not  done  my  errand  yet,  Mrs.  Holabird. 
Mother  has  taken  up  all  the  time.  I  want  to  have  some 
nexts.  Your  girls  know  what  I  mean  ;  and  I  want  them 
to  take  hold  and  help.  They  are  going  to  be  <  next 
Thursdays,'  and  to  begin  this  very  coming  Thursday  of 
all.  I  shall  give  primary  invitations  only,  —  and  my 
primaries  are  to  find  secondaries.  No  household  is  to  rep 
resent  merely  itself;  one  or  two,  or  more,  from  one  fam 
ily  are  to  bring  always  one  or  two,  or  more,  from  some 
where  else.  I  am  going  to  try  if  one  little  bit  of  socia] 
life  cannot  be  exogenous ;  and  if  it  can,  what  the  branch- 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  153 

ing-out  will  come  to.  I  think  we  want  sapwood  as  well 
as  heartwood  to  keep  us  green.  If  anybody  does  n't 
quite  understand,  refer  to  c  How  Plants  Grow  —  Gray.' ' 

She  went  off,  leaving  us  that  to  think  of. 

Two  days  after  she  looked  in  again,  and  said  more. 

"  Besides  that,  every  primary  or  season  invitation  im 
poses  a  condition.  Each  member  is  to  provide  one  prac 
tical  answer  to  '  What  next  ? '  4  Next  Thursday  '  is  al 
ways  to  be  in  charge  of  somebody.  You  may  do  what 
you  like,  or  can,  with  it.  I  '11  manage  the  first  myself. 
After  that  I  wash  my  hands." 

Out  of  it  grew  fourteen  incomparable  Thursday  even 
ings.  Pretty  much  all  we  can  do  about  them  is  to  tell 
that  they  were ;  we  should  want  fourteen  new  numbers 
to  write  their  full  history.  It  was  like  Mr.  Kale's  lovely 
"  Ten  Times  One  is  Ten."  They  all  came  from  that 
one  blessed  little  Halloween  party  of  ours.  It  means 
something  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  multiplication- 
table  ;  does  n't  it  ?  You  can't  help  yourself  if  you  start 
a  unit,  good  or  bad.  The  Garden  of  Eden,  and  the  Ark, 
and  the  Loaves  and  Fishes,  and  the  Hundred  and  Forty- 
four  Thousand  sealed  in  their  foreheads,  tell  of  it,  all 
through  the  Bible,  from  first  to  last.  u  Multiply  !  "  was 
the  very  next,  inevitable  commandment,  after  the  "  Let 
there  be  ! " 

It  was  such  a  thing  as  had  never  rolled  up,  or  branched 
out,  though,  in  Westover  before.  The  Marchbankses  did 
not  know  what  to  make  of  it.  People  got  in  -who  had  never 
belonged.  There  they  were,  though,  in  the  stately  old 
Pennington  house,  that  was  never  thrown  open  for  noth 
ing  ;  and  when  they  were  once  there  you  really  co»W  pot 


154  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

tell  the  difference ;  unless,  indeed,  it  were  that  the  old, 
niiddle  wood  was  the  deadest,  just  as  it  is  in  the  trees ; 
and  that  the  life  was  in  the  new  sap  and  the  green  rind. 

Lucilla  Waters  invented  charades  ;  and  Helen  Josselyn 
acted  them,  as  charades  had  never  been  acted  on  West 
Hill  until  now.  When  it  came  to  the  Hobarts'  "  Next 
Thursday"  they  gave  us  "  Dissolving  Views,"  —  every 
successive  queer  fashion  that  had  come  up  resplendent 
and  gone  down  grotesque  in  these  last  thirty  years.  Mrs. 
Hobart  had  no  end  of  old  relics,  —  bandbaskets  packed 
full  of  venerable  bonnets,  that  in  their  close  gradation  of 
change  seemed  like  one  individual  Indur  passing  through 
a  metempsychosis  of  millinery  ;  nests  of  old  hats  that  were 
odder  than  the  bonnets ;  swallow-tailed  coats ;  broad- 
skirted  blue  ones  with  brass  buttons  ;  baby  waists  and 
basquines  ;  leg-of-mutton  sleeves,  balloons,  and  military ; 
collars  inch-wide  and  collars  ell-wide  with  ruffles  rayon- 
nantes  ;  gathers  and  gores,  tunnel-skirts,  and  barrel-skirts 
and  paniers.  She  made  monstrous  paper  dickeys,  and 
high  black  stocks,  and  great  bundling  neckcloths  ;  the 
very  pocket-handkerchiefs  were  as  ridiculous  as  anything, 
from  the  waiter-napkin  size  of  good  stout  cambric  to  a 
quarter-dollar  bit  of  a  middle  with  a  cataract  of  "  chan 
delier  "  lace  about  it.  She  could  tell  everybody  how  to  do 
their  hair,  from  "  flat  curls  "  and  "  scallops  "  down  or  up 
to  frizzes  and  chignons ;  and  after  we  had  all  filed  in 
slowly,  one  by  one,  and  filled  up  the  room,  I  don't  think 

there  ever  could  have  been  a  funnier  evenino- ! 

& 

We  had  musical  nights,  and  readings.  We  had  a 
"Mutual  Friend"  Thursday;  that  was  Mrs.  Ingleside's. 
Rosamond  was  the  Boofer  Lady :  Barbara  was  Lavvy  the 


WE   GIRLS  :     A   HOME   STORY. 


155 


Irrepressible  ;  and  Miss  Pennington  herself  was  Mrs. 
Wilfer ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hobart  were  the  Boffins ;  and 
Doctor  Ingleside,  with  a  wooden  leg  strapped  on,  dropped 
into  poetry  in  the  light  of  a  friend  ;  Maria  Hendee  came 
in  twisting  up  her  back  hair,  as  Pleasant  Riderhood,  — 
Maria  Hendee's  back  hair  was  splendid ;  Leslie  looked 
very  sweet  and  quiet  as  Lizzie  Hexam,  and  she  brought 
with  her  for  her  secondary  that  night  the  very,  real  little 
doll's  dressmaker  herself,  —  Maddy  Freeman,  who  has 
carved  brackets,  and  painted  lovely  book-racks  and  easels 
and  vases  and  portfolios  for  almost  everybody's  parlors, 
and  yet  never  gets  into  them  herself. 

Leslie  would  not  have  asked  her  to  be  Jennie  Wren, 


156  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

because  she  really  has  a  lame  foot ;  but  when  they  told 
her  about  it,  she  said  right  off,  "  O,  how  I  wish  I  could 
be  that  I  "  She  has  not  only  the  lame  foot,  but  the  won 
derful  "  golden  bower "  of  sunshiny  hair  too  ;  and  she 
knows  the  doll's  dressmaker  by  heart ;  she  says  she  ex 
pects  to  find  her  some  time,  if  ever  she  goes  to  England 
—  or  to  heaven.  Truly  she  was  up  to  the  "  tricks  and 
the  manners  "  of  the  occasion  ;  nobody  entered  into  it 
with  more  self-abandonment  than  she  ;  she  was  so  com 
pletely  Jennie  Wren  that  no  one  —  at  the  moment  - 
thought  of  her  in  any  other  character,  or  remembered 
their  rules  of  behaving  according  to  the  square  of  the  dis 
tance.  She  "  took  patterns "  of  Mrs.  Lewis  March- 
banks's  trimmings  to  her  very  face  ;  she  reached  up  be 
hind  Mrs.  Linceford,  and  measured  the  festoon  of  her 
panier.  There  was  no  reason  why  she  should  be  afraid 
or  abashed  ;  Maddy  Freeman  is  a  little  lady,  only  she  is 
poor,  and  a  genius.  She  stepped  right  out  of  Dickens's 
story,  not  into  it,  as  the  rest  of  us  did ;  neither  did  she 
even  seem  to  step  consciously  into  the  grand  Pennington 
house  ;  all  she  did  as  to  that  was  to  go  "  up  here,"  or 
"  over  there,"  and  "  be  dead,"  as  fresh,  new-world  de 
lights  attracted  her.  Lizzie  Hexam  went  too  ;  they  be 
longed  together ;  and  T'other  Governor  would  insist  on 
following  after  them,  and  being  comfortably  dead  also, 
though  Society  was  behind  him,  and  the  Veneerings  and 
the  Podsnaps  looking  on.  Mrs.  Ingleside  did  not  provide 
any  Podsnaps  or  Veneerings  ;  she  said  they  would  be 
there. 

Now  Eugene  Wrayburn  was  Doctor  John  Hautayne ; 
for  this  was  only  our  fourth  evening.     Nobody  had  any- 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  157 

thing  to  say  about  parts,  except  the  person  whose  "  next " 
it  was ;  people  had  simply  to  take  what  they  were  helped 
to. 

We  began  to  be  a  little  suspicious  of  Doctor  Hautayne  ; 
to  wonder  about  his  '•  what  next."  Leslie  behaved  as  if 
she  had  always  known  him  ;  I  believe  it  seemed  to  her  as 
if  she  always  had  ;  some  lives  meet  in  a  way  like  that. 

It  did  not  end  with  parties,  Miss  Pennington's  exoge 
nous  experiment.  She  did  not  mean  it  should.  A  great 
deal  that  was  glad  and  comfortable  came  of  it  to  many 
persons.  Miss  Elizabeth  asked  Maddy  Freeman  to  "  come 
up  and  be  dead  "  whenever  she  felt  like  it ;  she  goes 
there  every  week  now,  to  copy  pictures,  and  get  rare  little 
bits  for  her  designs  out  of  the  Penningtons'  great  portfo 
lios  of  engravings  and  drawings  of  ancient  ornamenta 
tions  ;  and  half  the  time  they  keep  her  to  luncheon  or  to 
tea.  Lucilla  Waters  knows  them  now  as  well  as  we  do ; 
and  she  is  taking  German  lessons  with  Pen  Pennington. 

It  really  seems  as  if  the  "  nexts  "  would  grow  on  so  that 
at  last  it  would  only  be  our  old  "  set  "  that  would  be  in 
any  danger  of  getting  left  out.  "  Society  is  like  a  coral 
island  after  all,"  says  Leslie  Goldthwaite.  "  It  is  n't  a 
rock  of  the  Old  Silurian." 

It  was  a  memorable  winter  to  us  in  many  ways,  —  that 
last  winter  of  the  nineteenth  century's  seventh  decade. 

One  day  —  everything  has  to  be  one  day,  and  all  in  a 
minute,  when  it  does  come,  however  many  days  lead  up 
to  it  —  Doctor  Ingleside  came  in  and  told  us  the  news. 
He  had  been  up  to  see  Grandfather  Holabird  ;  grand 
father  was  not  quite  well. 

They  told  him  at  home,  the  doctor  said,  not  to  stop  any- 


158  WE   GIRLS  :    A  HOME   STORY. 

where  ;  he  knew  what  they  meant  by  that,  but  he  did  n't 
care  ;  it  was  as  much  his  news  as  anybody's,  and  why 
should  he  be  kept  down  to  pills  and  plasters  ? 

Leslie  was  going  to  marry  Doctor  John  Hautayne. 

Well  !  It  was  splendid  news,  and  we  had  somehow 
expected  it.  And  yet  —  "  only  think  !"  That  was  all 
we  could  say  ;  that  is  a  true  thing  people  do  say  to  each 
other,  in  the  face  of  a  great,  beautiful  fact.  Take  it  in  ; 
shut  your  door  upon  it ;  and  —  think  !  It  is  something 
that  belongs  to  heart  and  soul. 

We  counted  up ;  it  was  only  seven  weeks. 

"  As  if  that  were  the  whole  of  it !  "  said  Doctor  Ingle- 
side.  u  As  if  the  Lord  did  n't  know  !  As  if  they  had  n't 
been  living  on,  to  just  this  meeting-place !  She  knows 
his  life,  and  the  sort  of  it,  though  she  has  never  been  in 
it  with  him  before ;  that  is,  we  '11  concede  that,  for  the 
sake  of  argument,  though  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  it ;  and 
he  has  come  right  here  into  hers.  They  are  fair,  open, 
pleasant  ways,  both  of  them  ;  and  here,  from  the  joining, 
they  can  both  look  back  and  take  in,  each  the  other's; 
and  beyond  they  just  run  into  one,  you  see,  as  foreor 
dained,  and  there  's  no  other  way  for  them  to  go." 

Nobody  knew  it  but  ourselves  that  next  night, — 
Thursday.  Doctor  Hautayne  read  beautiful  things  from 
the  Brownings  at  Miss  Pennington's  that  evening;  it 
was  his  turn  to  provide ;  but  for  us,  —  we  looked  into 
new  depths  in  Leslie's  serene,  clear,  woman  eyes,  and  we 
felt  the  intenser  something  in  his  face  and  voice,  and  the 
wonder  was  that  everybody  could  not  see  how  quite 
another  thing  than  any  merely  written  poetry  was  really 
"  next "  that  night  for  Leslie  and  for  John  Hautayne. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  159 

That  was  in  December  ;  it  was  the  first  of  March  when 
Grandfather  Holabird  died. 

At  about  Christmas-time  mother  had  taken  a  bad  cold. 
We  could  not  let  her  get  up  in  the  mornings  to  help 
before  breakfast ;  the  winter  work  was  growing  hard ; 
there  were  two  or  three  fires  to  manage  besides  the  fur 
nace,  which  father  attended  to ;  and  although  our  "  chore- 
man  "  came  and  split  up  kindlings  and  filled  the 
wood-boxes,  yet  we  were  all  pretty  well  tired  out,  some 
times,  just  with  keeping  warm.  We  began  to  begin  to 
say  things  to  each  other  which  nobody  actually  finished. 
"  If  mother  does  n't  get  better,"  and  "  If  this  cold  weather 
keeps  on,"  and  "  Are  we  going  to  co-operate  ourselves  to 
death,  do  you  think  ?  "  from  Barbara,  at  last. 

Nobody  said,  "  We  shall  have  to  get  a  girl  again." 
Nobody  wanted  to  do  that ;  and  everybody  had  a  secret 
feeling  of  Aunt  Roderick,  and  her  prophecy  that  we 
"  should  n't  hold  out  long."  But  we  were  crippled  and 
reduced ;  Ruth  had  as  much  as  ever  she  could  do,  with 
the  short  days  and  her  music. 

"  I  begin  to  believe  it  was  easy  enough  for  Grant  to 
say  'all  summer  J"  said  Barbara;  "but  Ms  is  Valley 
Forge."  The  kitchen  fire  would  n't  burn,  and  the  ther 
mometer  was  down  to  3°  above.  Mother  was  worrying 
up  stairs,  we  knew,  because  we  would  not  let  her  come 
down  until  it  was  warm  and  her  coffee  was  ready. 

That  very  afternoon  Stephen  came  in  from  school  with 
a  word  for  the  hour. 

"The  Stilkings  are  going  to  move  right  off  to  New 
Jersey,"  said  he.  "  Jim  Stilking  told  me  so.  The  doc 
tor  says  his  father  can't  stay  here." 


160  WE   GIRLS:    A    HOME   STORY. 

"  Arctura  Fish  won't  go,"  said  Rosamond,  instantly. 

"  Arctura  Fish  is  as  neat  as  a  pin,  and  as  smart  as  a 
steel  trap,"  said  Barbara,  regardless  of  elegance ;  "  and 
—  since  nobody  else  will  ever  dare  to  give  in  —  I  believe 
Arctura  Fish  is  the  very  next  thing,  now,  for  us!" 

"  It  is  n't  giving  in ;  it  is  going  on,"  said  Mrs.  Hola- 
bird. 

It  certainly  was  not  going  back. 

u  We  have  got  through  ploughing-time,  and  now 
comes  seed-time,  and  then  harvest,"  said  Barbara.  "  We 
shall  raise,  upon  a  bit  of  renovated  earth,  the  first  millen 
nial  specimen,  —  see  if  we  don't !  —  of  what  was  supposed 
to  be  an  extinct  flora,  —  the  Domestica  antediluviana" 

Arctura  Fish  came  to  us. 

If  you  once  get  a  new  dress,  or  a  new  dictionary,  or 
a  new  convenience  of  any  kind,  did  you  never  notice  that 
you  immediately  have  occasions  which  prove  that  you 
could  n't  have  lived  another  minute  without  it  ?  We 
could  not  have  spared  Arctura  a  single  day,  after  that, 
all  winter.  Mother  gave  up,  and  was  ill  for  a  fortnight 
Stephen  twisted  his  foot  skating,  and  was  laid  up  with  a 
sprained  ankle. 

And  then,  in  February,  grandfather  was  taken  with 
that  last  fatal  attack,  and  some  of  us  had  to  be  with  Aunt 
Roderick  nearly  all  the  time  during  the  three  weeks  that 
he  lived. 

When  they  came  to  look  through  the  papers  there  was 
no  will  found,  of  any  kind  ;  neither  was  that  deed  of  gift. 

Aunt  Trixie  was  the  only  one  out  of  the  family  who 
knew  anything  about  it.  She  had  been  the  "family 
bosom,"  Barbara  said,  ever  since  she  cuddled  us  up  in 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY*  161 

oitt  baby  blankets,  and  told  us  "  this  little  pig,  and  that 
little  pig,"  while  she  warmed  our  toes. 

"Don't  tell  me!"  said  Aunt  Trixie.  Aunt  Trixie 
never  liked  the  Roderick  Holabirds. 

We  tried  not  to  think  about  it,  but  it  was  not  comfort 
able.  It  was,  indeed,  a  very  serious  anxiety  and  trouble 
that  began,  in  consequence,  to  force  itself  upon  us. 

After  the  bright,  gay  nights  had  come  weary,  vexing 
days.  And  the  worst  was  a  vague  shadow  of  family 
distrust  and  annoyance.  Nobody  thought  any  real  harm, 
nobody  disbelieved  or  suspected  ;  but  there  it  was.  We 
could  not  think  how  such  a  declared  determination  and 
act  of  Grandfather  Holabird  should  have  come  to  nothing. 
Uncle  and  Aunt  Roderick  "  could  not  see  what  we  could 
expect  about  it ;  there  was  nothing  to  show ;  and  there 
were  John  and  John's  children ;  it  was  not  for  any  one 
or  two  to  settle." 

Only  Ruth  said  "  we  were  all  good  people,  and  meant 
right ;  it  must  all  come  right,  somehow." 

But  father  made  up  his  mind  that  we  could  not  afford 
to  keep  the  place.  He  should  pay  his  debts,  now,  the 
first  thing.  What  was  left  must  do  for  us;  the  house 
must  go  into  the  estate. 

It  was  fixed,  though,  that  we  should  stay  there  for  the 
summer,  —  until  affairs  were  settled. 

"  It 's  a  dumb  shame  !  "  said  Aunt  Trixie. 


162 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


CHAPTER    X. 


RUTH  S    RESPONSIBILITY. 


HE  June  days  did  not  make 
it  any  better.  And  the  June 
nights,  —  well,  we  had  to  sit  in 
the  "  front  box  at  the  sunset," 
and  think  how  there  would  be 
June  after  June  here  for  some 
body,  and  we  should  only  have 
had  just  two  of  them  out  of  our 
whole  lives. 

Why  did  not  grandfather  give 
us  that  paper,  when  he  began 
to  ?  And  what  could  have  be 
come  of  it  since  ?  And  what  if 
it  were  found  some  time,  after 
the  dear  old  place  was  sold  and 
gone?  For  it  was  the  "dear 
old  place  "  already  to  us,  though 
we  had  only  lived  there  a  year, 
and  though  Aunt  Roderick  did 
say,  in  her  cold  fashion,  just  as  if  we  could  choose  about 
it,  that  u  it  was  not  as  if  it  were  really  an  old  homestead  ; 
it  would  n't  be  so  much  of  a  change  for  us,  if  we  made 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  163 

up  our  minds  not  to  take  it  in,  as  if  we  had  always  lived 
there." 

Why,  we  had  always  lived  there  !  That  was  just  the 
way  we  had  always  been  trying  to  spell  "home,"  though 
we  had  never  got  the  right  letters  to  do  it  with  before. 
When  exactly  the  right  thing  comes  to  you,  it  is  a  thing 
that  has  always  been.  You  don't  get  the  very  sticks  and 
stones  to  begin  with,  maybe  ;  but  what  they  stand  for 
grows  up  in  you,  and  when  you  come  to  it  you  know  it  is 
yours.  The  best  things  —  the  most  glorious  and  won 
derful  of  all  —  will  be  what  we  shall  see  to  have  been 
"laid  up  for  us  from  the  foundation."  Aunt  Roderick 
did  not  see  one  bit  of  how  that  was  with  us. 

"  There  is  n't  a  word  in  the  tenth  commandment  about 
not  coveting  your  own  house,"  Barbara  would  say,  boldly. 
And  we  did  covet,  and  we  did  grieve.  And  although  we 
did  not  mean  to  have  "  hard  thoughts,"  we  felt  that  Aunt 
Roderick  was  hard ;  and  that  Uncle  Roderick  and  Uncle 
John  were  hatefully  matter-of-fact  and  of-course  about 
the  "  business."  And  that  paper  might  be  somewhere, 
yet.  We  did  not  believe  that  Grandfather  Holabird  had 
"changed  his  mind  and  burned  it  up."  He  had  not  had 
much  mind  to  change,  within  those  last  six  months. 
When  he  was  well,  and  had  a  mind,  we  knew  what  he 
had  meant  to  do. 

If  Uncle  Roderick  and  Uncle  John  had  not  believed 
a  word  of  what  father  told  them,  they  could  not  have 
behaved  very  differently.  We  half  thought,  sometimes, 
that  they  did  not  believe  it.  And  very  likely  they  half 
thought  that  we  were  making  it  appear  that  they  had 
done  something  that  was  not  right.  And  it  is  the  half 


164  WE   GIRLS:     A  HOME   STORY. 

thoughts  that  are  the  hard  thoughts.  "It  is  very  dis« 
agreeable,"  Aunt  Roderick  used  to  say. 

Miss  Trixie  Spring  came  over  and  spent  days  with  us, 
as  of  old  ;  and  when  the  house  looked  sweet  and  pleasant 
with  the  shaded  summer  light,  and  was  full  of  the  gracious 
summer  freshness,  she  would  look  round  and  shake  her 
head,  and  say,  "It  's  just  as  beautiful  as  it  can  be.  And 
it  's  a  dumb  shame.  Don't  tell  me  !  " 

Uncle  Roderick  was  going  to  "  take  in  "  the  old  home 
stead  with  his  share,  and  that  was  as  much  as  he  cared 
about ;  Uncle  John  was  used  to  nothing  but  stocks  and 
railway  shares,  and  did  not  want  "  encumbrances  "  ;  and 
as  to  keeping  it  as  estate  property  and  paying  rent  to  the 
heirs,  ourselves  included,  —  nobody  wanted  that ;  they 
would  rather  have  things  settled  up.  There  would  always 
be  questions  of  estimates  and  repairs ;  it  was  not  best  to 
have  things  so  in  a  family.  Separate  accounts  as  well  as 
short  ones,  made  best  friends.  We  knew  they  all  thought 
father  was  unlucky  to  have  to  do  with  in  such  matters. 
He  would  still  be  the  "  limited  "  man  of  the  family.  It 
would  take  two  thirds  of  his  inheritance  to  pay  off  those 
old  '57  debts. 

So  we  took  our  lovely  Westover  summer  days  as  things 
we  could  not  have  any  more  of.  And  when  you  begin 
to  feel  that  about  anything,  it  would  be  a  relief  to  have 
had  the  last  of  it.  Nothing  lasts  always ;  but  we  like  to 
have  the  forever-and-ever  feeling,  however  delusive.  A 
child  hates  his  Sunday  clothes,  because  he  knows  he  can 
not  put  them  on  again  on  Monday. 

With  all  our  troubles,  there  was  one  pleasure  in  the 
house,  —  Arctura.  We  had  made  an  art-kitchen  ;  now 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  165 

we  were  making  a  little  poem  of  a  serving-maiden.  We 
did  not  turn  things  over  to  her,  and  so  leave  chaos  to  come 
again  ;  we  only  let  her  help  ;  we  let  her  come  in  and  learn 
with  us  the  nice  and  pleasant  ways  that  we  had  learned. 
We  did  not  move  the  kitchen  down  stairs  again  ;  we  were 
determined  not  to  have  a  kitchen  any  more. 

Arctura  was  strong  and  blithe ;  she  could  fetch  and 
carry,  make  fires,  wash  dishes,  clean  knives  and  brasses, 
do  all  that  came  hardest  to  us  ;  and  could  do,  in  other 
things,  with  and  for  us,  what  she  saw  us  do.  We  all 
worked  together  till  the  work  was  done  ;  then  Arctura  sat 
down  in  the  afternoons,  just  as  we  did,  and  read  books, 
or  made  her  clothes.  She  always  looked  nice  and  pretty. 
She  had  large  dark  calico  aprons  for  her  work ;  and  little 
white  bib-aprons  for  table-tending  and  dress-up ;  and 
mother  made  for  her,  on  the  machine,  little  linen  collars 
and  cuffs. 

We  had  a  pride  in  her  looks ;  and  she  knew  it ;  she 
learned  to  work  as  delicately  as  we  did.  When  break 
fast  or  dinner  was  ready,  she  was  as  fit  to  turn  round  and 
serve  as  we  were  to  sit  down  ;  she  was  astonished  her 
self,  at  ways  and  results  that  she  fell  in  with  and  attained. 

"  Why,  where  does  the  dirt  go  to  ?  "  she  would  ex 
claim.  "  It  never  gethers  anywheres." 

"  GATHERS,  —  anywhere"  Rosamond  corrected. 

Arctura  learned  little  grammar  lessons,  and  other  such 
things,  by  the  way.  She  was  only  "  next "  below  us  in  our 
family  life  ;  there  was  no  great  gulf  fixed.  We  felt  that 
we  had  at  least  got  hold  of  the  right  end  of  one  thread  in 
the  social  tangle.  This,  at  any  rate,  had  come  out  of  our 
year  at  Westover. 


166  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

"  Things  seem  so  easy,"  the  girl  would  say.  "  It  is 
just  like  two  times  one." 

So  it  was  ;  because  we  did  not  jumble  in  all  the  Anal 
ysis  and  Compound  Proportion  of  housekeeping  right  on 
top  of  the  multiplication-table.  She  would  get  on  by  de 
grees  ;  by  and  by  she  would  be  in  evolution  and  geomet 
rical  progression  without  knowing  how  she  got  there.  If 
you  want  a  house,  you  must  build  it  up,  stone  by  stone, 
and  stroke  by  stroke  ;  if  you  want  a  servant,  you,  or 
somebody  for  you,  must  build  one,  just  the  same  ;  they  do 
not  spring  up  and  grow,  neither  can  be  "  knocked  togeth 
er."  And  I  tell  you,  busy,  eager  women  of  this  day, 
wanting  great  work  out  of  doors,  this  is  just  what  "  we 
girls,"  some  of  us,  —  and  some  of  the  best  of  us,  perhaps,  — 
have  got  to  stay  at  home  awhile  and  do. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  little  jobs  that  has  been  waiting  for  a 
good  while  to  be  done,"  says  Barbara  ;  u  and  Miss  Pen- 
nington  has  found  out  another.  '  There  may  be,'  she 
says,  '  need  of  women  for  reorganizing  town-meetings  ; 
I  won't  undertake  to  say  there  is  n't ;  but  I  'm  sure 
there  's  need  of  them  for  reorganizing  parlor  meetings. 
They  are  getting  to  be  left  altogether  to  the  little  school 
girl  "  sets."  Women  who  have  grown  older,  and  can  see 
through  all  that  nonsense,  and  have  the  position  and 
power  to  break  it  up,  ought  to  take  hold.  Don't  you 
think  so  ?  Don't  you  think  it  is  the  duty  of  women  of 
my  age  and  class  to  see  to  this  thing  before  it  grows  any 
worse  ? '  And  I  told  her,  —  right  up,  respectful,  — 
Yes  'm  ;  it  wum !  Think  of  her  asking  me,  though  !  " 

Just  as  things  were  getting  to  be  so  different  and  so 
nice  on  West  Hill,  it  seemed  so  hard  to  leave  it !  Every 
thing  reminded  us  of  that. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  167 

A  beautiful  plan  came  up  for  Ruth,  though,  at  this 
time.  What  with  the  family  worries,  —  which  Ruth  al 
ways  had  a  way  of  gathering  to  herself,  and  hugging  up, 
prickers  in,  as  if  so  she  could  keep  the  nettles  from  other 
people's  fingers,  —  and  her  hard  work  at  her  music,  she 
was  getting  thin.  We  were  all  insisting  that  she  must 
take  a  vacation  this  summer,  both  from  teaching  and 
learning ;  when,  all  at  once,  Miss  Pennington  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  to  West  Point  and  Lakev  George,  and  to 
take  Penelope  with  her  ;  and  she  came  over  and  asked 
Ruth  to  go  too. 

u  If  you  don't  mind  a  room  alone,  dear  ;  I  'm  an  awful 
coward  to  have  come  of  a  martial  family,  and  I  must  have 
Pen  with  me  nights.  I  'm  nervous  about  cars,  too  ;  I 
want  two  of  you  to  keep  up  a  chatter ;  I  should  be  mis 
erable  company  for  one,  always  distracted  after  the  whis 
tles." 

Ruth's  eyes  shone  ;  but  she  colored  up,  and  her  thanks 
had  half  a  doubt  in  them.  She  would  tell  Auntie:  and 
they  would  think  how  it  could  be. 

"  What  a  nice  way  for  you  to  go !  "  said  Barbara,  after 
Miss  Pennington  left.  "  And  how  nice  it  will  be  for  you 
to  see  Dakie !  "  At  which  Ruth  colored  up  again,  and 
only  said  that  "  it  would  certainly  be  the  nicest  possible 
way  to  go,  if  she  were  to  go  at  all." 

Barbara  meant  —  or  meant  to  be  understood  that  she 
meant  —  that  Miss  Pennington  knew  everybody,  and  be 
longed  among  the  general  officers  ;  Ruth  had  an  instinct 
that  it  would  only  be  possible  for  her  to  go  by  an  invita 
tion  like  this  from  people  out  of  her  own  family. 

"  But  does  n't  it  seem  queer  she  should  choose  me,  out 


168  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

of  us  all  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Does  n't  it  seem  selfish  for  me 
to  be  the  one  to  go  ?  " 

"  Seem  selfish  ?  Whom  to  ?  "  said  Barbara,  bluntly. 
"  We  were  n't  asked." 

"  I  wish — everybody— knew  that,"  said  Ruth. 

Making  this  little  transparent  speech,  Ruth  blushed 
once  more.  But  she  went,  after  all.  She  said  we  pushed 
her  out  of  the  nest.  She  went  out  into  the  wide,  won 
derful  world,  for  the  very  first  time  in  her  life. 

This  is  one  of  her  letters  :  — 

DEAR  MOTHER  AND  GIRLS:  —  It  is  perfectly  lovely 
here.  I  wish  you  could  sit  where  I  do  this  morning,  look 
ing  up  the  still  river  in  the  bright  light,  with  the  tender  pur 
ple  haze  on  the  far-off  hills,  and  long,  low,  shady  Constitu 
tion  Island  lying  so  beautiful  upon  the  water  on  one  side, 
and  dark  shaggy  Cro'  Nest  looming  up  on  the  other.  The 
Parrott  guns  at  the  foundry,  over  on  the  headland  oppo 
site,  are  trying, —  as  they  are  trying  almost  all  the  time,  — 
against  the  face  of  the  high,  old,  desolate  cliff;  and  the 
hurtling  buzz  of  the  shells  keeps  a  sort  of  slow,  tremen 
dous  time-beat  on  the  air. 

I  think  I  am  almost  more  interested  in  Constitution  Isl 
and  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  place.  I  never  knew 
until  I  came  here  that  it  was  the  home  of  the  Misses  War 
ner  ;  the  place  where  Queechy  came  from,  and  Dollars 
and  Cents,  and  the  Wide,  Wide  World.  It  seems  so 
strange  to  think  that  they  sit  there  and  write  still,  lovely 
stories  while  all  this  parade  and  bustle  and  learning  how  to 
fight  are  going  on  close  beside  and  about  them. 

The  Cadets  are  very  funny.    They  will  do  almost  any 


WE   GIELS:    A  HOME   STORY.  169 

thing  for  mischief,  —  the  frolic  of  it,  I  mean.  Dakie 
Thayne  tells  us  very  amusing  stories.  They  are  just  go 
ing  into  camp  now  ;  and  they  have  parades  and  battery- 
practice  every  day.  They  have  target-firing  at  old  Cro' 
Nest,  —  which  has  to  stand  all  the  firing  from  the  north 
battery,  just  around  here  from  the  hotel.  One  day  the 
cadet  in  charge  made  a  very  careful  sighting  of  his  piece ; 
made  the  men  train  the  gun  up  and  down,  this  way  and 
that,  a  hair  more  or  a  hair  less,  till  they  were  nearly  out 
of  patience ;  when,  lo !  just  as  he  had  got  "  a  beautiful 
bead,"  round  came  a  superintending  officer,  and  took  a 
look  too.  The  bad  boy  had  drawn  it  full  on  a  poor  old 
black  cow  !  I  do  not  believe  he  would  have  really  let  her 
be  blown  up ;  but  Dakie  says,  — "  Well,  he  rather 
thinks,  —  if  she  would  have  stood  still  long  enough,  —  he 
would  have  let  her  be  —  astonished  !  " 

The  walk  through  the  woods,  around  the  cliff,  over  the 
river,  is  beautiful.  If  only  they  would  n't  call  it  by  such 
a  silly  name  ! 

We  went  out  to  Old  Fort  Putnam  yesterday.  I  did  not 
know  how  afraid  Miss  Pennington  could  be  of  a  little 
thing  before.  I  don't  know,  now,  how  much  of  it  was 
fun  ;  for,  as  Dakie  Thayne  said,  it  was  agonizingly  funny. 
What  must  have  happened  to  him  after  we  got  back 
and  he  left  us  I  cannot  imagine  ;  he  did  n't  laugh  much 
there,  and  it  must  have  been  a  misery  of  politeness. 

We  had  been  down  into  the  old,  ruinous  enclosure  ; 
had  peeped  in  at  the  dark,  choked-up  casemates  ;  and  had 
gone  round  and  come  up  on  the  edge  of  the  broken  em 
bankment,  which  we  were  following  along  to  where  it 
sloped  down  safely  again,  —  when,  just  at  the  very  mid- 


170  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

die  and  highest  and  most  impossible  point,  down  sat  Miss 
Elizabeth  among  the  stones,  and  declared  she  could  nei 
ther  go  back  nor  forward.  She  had  been  frightened  to  death 
all  the  way,  and  now  her  head  was  quite  gone.  "  No ; 
nothing  should  persuade  her ;  she  never  could  get  up  on 
her  feet  again  in  that  dreadful  place."  She  laughed  in 
the  midst  of  it ;  but  she  was  really  frightened,  and  there 
she  sat ;  Dakie  went  to  her,  and  tried  to  help  her  up,  and 
lead  her  on  ;  but  she  would  not  be  helped.  "  What 
would  come  of  it  ?  "  "  She  did  n't  know  ;  she  supposed 
that  was  the  end  of  her ;  she  could  n't  do  anything." 
"  But,  dear  Miss  Pennington,"  says  Dakie,  "  are  you  go 
ing  to  break  short  off  with  life,  right  here,  and  make  a 
Lady  Simon  Stylites  of  yourself?  "  "  For  all  she  knew  ; 
she  never  could  get  down."  I  think  we  must  have  been 
there,  waiting  and  coaxing,  nearly  half  an  hour,  before  she 
began  to  hitch  along ;  for  walk  she  would  n't,  and  she  did 
n't.  She  had  on  a  black  Ernani  dress,  and  a  nice  silk 
underskirt ;  and  as  she  lifted  herself  along  with  her  hands, 
hoist  after  hoist  side  wise,  of  course  the  thin  stuif  dragged  on 
the  rocks  and  began  to  go  to  pieces.  By  the  time  she  came 
to  where  she  could  stand,  she  was  a  rebus  of  the  Coliseum, 
—  "a  noble  wreck  in  ruinous  perfection."  She  just  had 
to  tear  off  the  long  tatters,  and  roll  them  up  in  a  bunch, 
and  fling  them  over  into  a  hollow,  and  throw  the  two 
or  three  breadths  that  were  left  over  her  arm,  and  walk 
home  in  her  silk  petticoat,  itself  much  the  sufferer  from 
dust  and  fray,  though  we  did  all  we  could  for  her  with 
pocket-handkerchiefs. 

"  What  has  happened  to  Miss  Pennington  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
General  M ,  as  we  came  up  on  the  piazza. 


WE  GIRLS  i     A  HOME  STORY.  171 

"Nothing,"  said  Dakie,  quite  composed  and  proper, 
"  only  she  got  tired  and  sat  down  ;  and  it  was  dusty,  — 
that  was  all."  He  bowed  and  went  off,  without  so  much 
as  a  glance  of  secret  understanding. 

"  A  joke  has  as  many  lives  as  a  cat,  here,"  he  told  Pen 
and  me,  afterwards,  "  and  that  was  too  good  not  to  keep 
to  ourselves." 

Dear  little  mother  and  girls,  —  I  have  told  stories  and 
described  describes,  and  all  to  crowd  out  and  leave  to  the 
last  corner  such  a  thing  that  Dakie  Thayne  wants  to  do  ! 
We  got  to  talking  about  Westover  and  last  summer,  and 
the  pleasant  old  place,  and  all ;  and  I  could  n't  help  telling 
him  something  about  the  worry.  I  know  I  had  no  busi 
ness  to ;  and  I  am  afraid  I  have  made  a  snarl.  He  says 
he  would  like  to  buy  the  place  !  And  he  wanted  to  know 
if  Uncle  Stephen  would  n't  rent  it  of  him  if  he  did  !  Just 
think  of  it,  —  that  boy !  I  believe  he  really  means  to 
write  to  Chicago,  to  his  guardian.  Of  course  it  never  came 
into  my  head  when  I  told  him  ;  it  would  n't  at  any  rate, 
and  I  never  think  of  Ms  having  such  a  quantity  of  money. 
He  seems  just  like  —  as  far  as  that  goes  —  any  other  boy. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  Do  you  believe  he  will  ? 

P.  S.  Saturday  morning.  I  feel  better  about  that  Poll 
Parroting  of  mine,  to-day.  I  have  had  another  talk  with 
Dakie.  I  don't  believe  he  will  write  ;  now,  at  any  rate. 
O  girls  !  this  is  just  the  most  perfect  morning  ! 

Tell  Stephen  I  've  got  a  splendid  little  idea,  on  purpose 
for  him  and  me.  Something  I  can  hardly  keep  to 
myself  till  I  get  home.  Dakie  Thayne  put  it  into  my 
head.  He  is  just  the  brightest  boy,  about  everything  !  I 


172  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

begin  to  feel  in  a  hurry  almost,  to  come  back.  I  don't 
think  Miss  Pennington  will  go  to  Lake  George,  after  all. 
She  says  she  hates  to  leave  the  Point,  so  many  of  her  old 
friends  are  here.  But  Pen  and  I  think  she  is  afraid  of 
the  steamers. 

Ruth  got  home  a  week  after  this ;  a  little  fatter,  a  little 
browner,  and  a  little  merrier  and  more  talkative  than  she 
had  ever  been  before. 

Stephen  was  in  a  great  hurry  about  the  splendid  little 
mysterious  idea,  of  course.  Boys  never  can  wait,  half  so 
well  as  girls,  for  anything. 

We  were  all  out  on  the  balcony  that  night  before  dusk, 
as  usual.  Ruth  got  up  suddenly,  and  went  into  the  house 
for  something.  Stephen  went  straight  in  after  her.  What 
happened  upon  that,  the  rest  of  us  did  not  know  till  after 
ward.  But  it  is  a  nice  little  part  of  the  story,  — just  be 
cause  there  is  so  precious  little  of  it. 

Ruth  went  round,  through  the  brown  room  and  the 
hall,  to  the  front  door.  Stephen  found  her  stooping  down, 
with  her  face  close  to  the  piazza,  cracks. 

"  Hollo  !  what's  the  matter  ?     Lost  something  ?  " 

Ruth  lifted  up  her  head.     "  Hush  !  " 

"  Why,  how  your  face  shines  !     What  is  up  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  sunset.  I  mean  —  that  shines.  Don't  say 
anything.  Our  splendid  —  little  —  idea,  you  know.  It 's 
under  here." 

u  Be  dar  —  never-minded,  if  mine  is  !  " 

"  You  don't  know.  Columbus  did  n't  know  where  his 
idea  was  —  exactly.  Do  you  remember  when  Sphinx  hid 
her  kittens  under  here  last  summer  ?  Brought '  em  round, 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  173 

over  the  wood-pile  in  the  shed,  and  they  never  knew  their 
way  out  till  she  showed  '  em  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  about  kittens  ! " 

"  Has  n't  Old  Ma'amselle  got  some  now  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  four." 

"Could  n't  you  bring  up  one  —  or  two  —  to-morrow 
morning  early,  and  make  a  place  and  tuck  'em  in  here, 
under  the  step,  and  put  back  the  sod,  and  fasten  'em  up  ?  " 

"  What  — for  ?  "     with  wild  amazement. 

"  I  can't  do  what  I  want  to,  just  for  an  idea.  It  will 
make  a  noise,  and  I  don't  feel  sure  enough.  There  had 
better  be  a  kitten.  I  '11  tell  you  the  rest  to-morrow  morn 
ing."  And  Ruth  was  up  on  her  two  little  feet,  and  had 
given  Stephen  a  kiss,  and  was  back  into  the  house,  and 
round  again  to  the  balcony,  before  he  could  say  another 
word. 

Boys  like  a  plan,  though ;  especially  a  mysterious  getting- 
up-early  plan ;  and  if  it  has  cats  in  it,  it  is  always  funny. 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  be  on  hand. 

Ruth  was  first,  though.  She  kept  her  little  bolt  drawn 
all  night,  between  her  room  and  that  of  Barbara  and  Rose. 
At  five  o'clock,  she  went  softly  across  the  passage  to  Ste 
phen's  room,  in  her  little  wrapper  and  knit  slippers.  "  I 
shall  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  she  whispered,  right  into 
his  ear,  and  into  his  dream. 

u  Scat !  "  cried  Stephen,  starting  up  bewildered. 

And  Ruth  "  scatted." 

Down  on  the  front  piazza,  twenty  minutes  after,  she 
superintended  the  tucking  in  of  the  kittens,  and  then  told 
him  to  bring  a  mallet  and  wedge.  She  had  been  very 
particular  to  have  the  kittens  put  under  at  a  precise  place, 


174  WE   GIRLS  :    A  HOME   STORY. 

though  there  was  a  ready-made  hole  farther  on.  The  cat 
babies  mewed  and  sprawled  and  dragged  themselves  at 
feeble  length  on  their  miserable  little  legs,  as  small  blind 
kittiewinks  are  given  to  doing. 

"  They  won't  go  far,"  said  Ruth.  u  Now,  let 's  take 
this  board  up." 

"What — for?"  cried  Stephen,  again. 

"  To  get  them  out,  of  course,"  says  Ruth. 

"  Well,  if  girls  ain't  queer !     Queerer  than  cats  ! ' 

"Hush  !  "  said  Ruth,  softly.  "I  believe  —  but  I  don't 
dare  say  a  word  yet  —  there  's  something  there  !  " 

u  Of  course  there  is.     Two  little  yowling — " 

u  Something  we  all  want  found,  Steve,"  Ruth  whis 
pered,  earnestly.  "  But  I  don't  know.  Do  hush  ! 
Make  haste  ! " 

Stephen  put  down  his  face  to  the  crack,  and  took  a 
peep.  Rather  a  long  serious  peep.  When  he  took  his 
face  back  again,  "  I  see  something,"  he  said.  "  It 's  white 
paper.  Kind  of  white,  that  is.  Do  you  suppose,  Ruth  —  ? 
My  cracky  !  if  you  do  ! ' 

"  We  won't  suppose,"  said  Ruth.     "  We  '11  hammer." 

Stephen  knocked  up  the  end  of  the  board  with  the  mal 
let,  and  then  he  got  the  wedge  under  and  pried.  Ruth 
pulled.  Stephen  kept  hammering  and  prying,  and  Ruth 
held  on  to  all  he  gained,  until  they  slipped  the  wedge 
along  gradually,  to  where  the  board  was  nailed  again,  to 
the  middle  joist  or  stringer.  Then  a  few  more  vigorous 
strokes,  and  a  little  smart  levering,  and  the  nails  loosened, 
and  one  good  wrench  lifted  it  from  the  inside  timber  and 
they  slid  it  out  from  under  the  house-boarding. 

Underneath  lay  a  long,  folded  paper,  much  covered 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  175 

with  drifts  of  dust,  and  speckled  somewhat  with  damp. 
But  it  was  a  dry,  sandy  place,  and  weather  had  not  badly 
injured  it. 

u  Stephen,  I  am  sure  ! "  said  Ruth,  holding  Stephen 
back  by  the  arm.  "  Don't  touch  it,  though  !  Let  it  be, 
right  there.  Look  at  that  corner,  that  lies  opened  up  a 
little.  Is  n't  that  grandfather's  writing  ?  " 


It  lay  deep  down,  and  not  directly  under.  They  could 
scarcely  have  reached  it  with  their  hands.  Stephen  ran 
into  the  parlor,  and  brought  out  an  opera-glass  that  was 
upon  the  table  there. 


176  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  That  's  bright  of  you,  Steve  !  "  cried  Ruth. 

Through  the  glass  they  discerned  clearly  the  handwrhV 
ing.  They  read  the  words,  at  the  upturned  corner, — 
"  heirs  after  him." 

u  Lay  the  board  back  in  its  place,"  said  Ruth.  "  It 
is  n't  for  us  to  meddle  with  any  more.  Take  the  kittens 
away."  Ruth  had  turned  quite  pale. 

Going  down  to  the  barn  with  Stephen,  presently,  carry 
ing  the  two  kittens  in  her  arms,  while  he  had  the  mallet 
and  wedge,  — 

"  Stephen,"  said  she,  "  I  'm  going  to  do  something  on 
my  own  responsibility." 

"  I  should  think  you  had." 

"  O,  that  was  nothing.  I  had  to  do  that.  I  had  to 
make  sure  before  I  said  anything.  But  now,  —  I  'm  go 
ing  to  ask  Uncle  and  Aunt  Roderick  to  come  over.  They 
ought  to  be  here,  you  know." 

"  Why  !  don't  you  suppose  they  will  believe,  now  ?  " 

u  Stephen  Holabird  !  you  're  a  bad  boy  !  No  ;  of  course 
it  is  n't  that."  Ruth  kept  right  on  from  the  barn,  across 
the  field,  into  the  "  old  place." 

Mrs.  Roderick  Holabird  was  out  in  the  east  piazza, 
watering  her  house  plants,  that  stood  in  a  row  against  the 
wall.  Her  cats  always  had  their  milk,  and  her  plants 
their  water,  before  she  had  her  own  breakfast.  It  was  a 
good  thing  about  Mrs.  Roderick  Holabird,  and  it  was  a 
good  time  to  take  her. 

"  Aunt  Roderick,"  said  Ruth,  coming  up,  "  I  want  you 
and  Uncle  to  come  over  right  after  breakfast ;  or  before, 
if  you  like  ;  if  you  please." 

It  was  rather  sudden,  but  for  the  repeated  "  ifs.'* 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  177 

"  You  want !  "  said  Mrs.  Roderick  in  surprise.  u  Who 
sent  you  ?  " 

"  Nobody.  Nobody  knows  but  Stephen  and  me.  Some 
thing  is  going  to  happen."  Ruth  smiled,  as  one  who  has 
a  pleasant  astonishment  in  store.  She  smiled  right  up  out 
of  her  heart-faith  in  Aunt  Roderick  and  everybody. 

"  On  the  whole,  I  guess  you  'd  better  come  right  off, — 
to  breakfast !  "  How  boldly  little  Ruth  took  the  respon 
sibility!  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roderick  had  not  been  over  to 
our  house  for  at  least  two  months.  It  had  seemed  to 
happen  so.  Father  always  went  there  to  attend  to  the 
"  business."  The  "  papers  "  were  all  at  grandfather's. 
All  but  this  one,  that  the  "  gale  "  had  taken  care  of. 

Uncle  Roderick,  hearing  the  voices,  came  out  into  the 
piazza. 

"  We  want  you  over  at  our  house,"  repeated  Ruth. 
"Right  off,  now;  there  's  something  you  ought  to  see 
about." 

"  I  don't  like  mysteries,"  said  Mrs.  Roderick,  severely, 
covering  her  curiosity;  "especially  when  children  get 
them  up.  And  it  's  no  matter  about  the  breakfast,  either 
way.  We  can  walk  across,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Holabird,  and 
see  what  it  is  all  about.  Kittens,  I  dare  say." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ruth,  laughing  out ;  "  it  is  kittens,  partly. 
Or  was." 

So  we  saw  them,  from  mother's  room  window,  all  com 
ing  along  down  the  side-hill  path  together. 

We  always  went  out  at  the  front  door  to  look  at  the 
morning.  Arctura  had  set  the  table,  and  baked  the  bis 
cuits  ;  we  could  breathe  a  little  first  breath  of  life,  nowa 
days,  that  did  not  come  cut  of  the  oven. 

12 


178  WE   GIRLS  :    A   HOME   STORY. 

Father  was  in  the  door- way.  Stephen  stood,  as  if  he 
had  been  put  there,  over  the  loose  board,  that  we  did 
not  know  was  loose. 

Ruth  brought  Uncle  and  Aunt  Roderick  up  the  long 
steps,  and  so  around. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  father,  surprised.  "  Why,  Ruth, 
what  is  it  ?  "  And  he  met  them  right  on  that  very  loose 
board ;  and  Stephen  stood  stock  still,  pertinaciously  in  the 
way,  so  that  they  dodged  and  blundered  about  him. 

"  Yes,  Ruth ;  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Roderick  Hola- 
bird. 

Then  Ruth,  after  she  had  got  the  family  solemnly 
together,  began  to  be  struck  with  the  solemnity.  Her 
voice  trembled. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  make  a  fuss  about  it ;  only  I  knew 
you  would  all  care,  and  I  wanted  —  Stephen  and  I  have 
found  something,  mother  !  "  She  turned  to  Mrs.  Stephen 
Holabird,  and  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  hard. 

Stephen  stooped  down,  and  drew  out  the  loose  board. 
"  Under  there,"  said  he  ;  and  pointed  in. 

They  could  all  see  the  folded  paper,  with  the  drifts  of 
dust  upon  it,  just  as  it  had  lain  for  almost  a  year. 

"  It  has  been  there  ever  since  the  day  of  the  September 
Gale,  father,"  he  said.  "  The  day,  you  know,  that  grand 
father  was  here." 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  wind  and  the  papers  ?  "  said 
Ruth.  "It  was  remembering  that,  that  put  it  into  our 
heads.  I  never  thought  of  the  cracks  and  —  "  with  a 
little,  low,  excited  laugh  —  "the  4 total  depravity  of  in 
animate  things,'  till — just  a  little  while  ago." 

She  did  not  say  a  word  about  that  bright  boy  at  West 
Point,  now,  before  them  all. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  179 

Uncle  Roderick  reached  in  with  the  crook  of  his  cane, 
and  drew  forward  the  packet,  and  stooped  down  and  lifted 
it  up.  He  shook  off  the  dust  and  opened  it.  He  glanced 
along  the  lines,  and  at  the  signature.  Not  a  single  wit 
nessing  name.  No  matter.  Uncle  Roderick  is  an  honest 
man.  He  turned  round  and  held  it  out  to  father. 

"  It  is  your  deed  of  gift,"  said  he  ;  and  then  they  two 
shook  hands. 

"  There !  "  said  Ruth,  tremulous  with  gladness.  "  I 
knew  they  would.  That  was  it.  That  was  why.  I  told 
you,  Stephen ! " 

"  No,  you  did  n't,"  said  Stephen.  "  You  never  told 
me  anything —  but  cats." 

"  Well !  I  'm  sure  I  am  glad  it  is  all  settled,"  said  Mrs. 
Roderick  Holabird,  after  a  pause  ;  "  and  nobody  has  any 
hard  thoughts  to  lay  up." 

They  would  not  stop  to  breakfast ;  they  said  they  would 
come  another  time. 

But  Aunt  Roderick,  just  before  she  went  away,  turned 
round  and  kissed  Ruth.  She  is  a  supervising,  regulating 
kind  of  a  woman,  and  very  strict  about  —  well,  other 
people's  —  expenditures  ;  but  she  was  glad  that  the  "  hard 
thoughts  "  were  lifted  off  from  her. 

"  I  knew,"  said  Ruth,  again,  "  that  we  were  all  good 
people,  and  that  it  must  come  right." 

u  Don't  tell  me!"  says  Miss  Trixie,  intolerantly.  "  She 
could  n't  help  herself." 


180 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STOBY. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

BARBARA'S  BUZZ. 

ESLIE     GOLDTHWAITE'S 

world  of  friendship  is  not  a 
circle.  Or  if  it  is,  it  is  the  far- 
off,  immeasurable  horizon  that 
holds  all  of  life  and  possibility. 
"  You  must  draw  the  line 
somewhere,"  people  say.  "  You 
cannot  be  acquainted  with 
everybody." 

But   Leslie's  lines   are   only 
radii.       They    reach    out     to 
wherever  there  is  a  sympathy ; 
they  hold  fast  wherever  they 
have  once  been  joined.     Conse 
quently,  she  mores  to  laws  that 
seem  erratic  to  those  for  whom 
a  pair  of  compasses  can  lay  down 
the   limit.     Consequently,   her 
wedding  was  "odd." 
If  Olivia  Marchbanks  had  been  going  to  be  married 
there    would    have    been    a   "circle"   invited.     Nobody 
would  have  been  left  out ;  nobody  would  have  been  let 
m.     She  had  lived  in  this  necromantic  ring ;  she  would 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  181 

be  married  in  it ;  she  would  die  and  be  buried  in  it ;  and 
of  all  the  wide,  rich,  beautiful  champaign  of  life  beyond,  — 
of  all  its  noble  heights,  and  hidden,  tender  hollows, — 
its  gracious  harvest  fields,  and  its  deep,  grand,  forest 
glooms,  —  she  would  be  content,  elegantly  and  exclu 
sively,  to  know  nothing.  To  her  wedding  people  might 
come,  indeed,  from  a  distance,  —  geographically ;  but 
they  would  come  out  of  a  precisely  corresponding  little 
sphere  in  some  other  place,  and  fit  right  into  this  one,  for 
the  time  being,  with  the  most  edifying  sameness. 

From  the  east  and  the  west,  the  north  and  the  south, 
they  began  to  come,  days  beforehand,  —  the  people  who 
could  not  let  Leslie  Goldthwaite  be  married  without  being 
there.  There  were  no  proclamation  cards  issued,  bearing 
in  imposing  characters  the  announcement  of  "  Their 
Daughter's  Marriage,"  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Aaron  Gold 
thwaite,  after  the  like  of  which  one  almost  looks  to  see, 
and  somewhat  feels  the  need  of,  the  regular  final  invoca 
tion,  —  "  God  save  the  Commonwealth !  " 

There  had  been  loving  letters  sent  here  and  there  ;  old 
Miss  Craydocke,  up  in  the  mountains,  got  one,  and  came 
down  a  month  earlier  in  consequence,  and  by  the  way  of 
Boston.  She  stayed  there  at  Mrs.  Frank  Scherman's ; 
and  Frank  and  his  wife  and  little  Sinsie,  the  baby, — 
"  she  isn't  Original  Sin,  as  I  was,"  says  her  mother, — 

came  up  to  Z together,  and  stopped  at  the  hotel. 

Martha  Josselyn  came  from  New  York,  and  stayed,  of 
course,  with  the  Inglesides. 

Martha  is  a  horrible  thing,  girls ;  how  do  you  suppose 
I  dare  to  put  her  in  here  as  I  do?  She  is  a  milliner. 
And  this  is  how  it  happens.  Her  father  is  a  compara- 


182  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

tively  poor  man,  —  a  book-keeper  with  a  salary.  There 
are  ever  so  many  little  Josselyns  ;  and  Martha  has  always 
felt  bound  to  help.  She  is  not  very  likely  to  marry,  and 
she  is  not  one  to  take  it  into  her  calculation,  if  she  were  ; 
but  she  is  of  the  sort  who  are  said  to  be  "  cut  out  for  old 
maids,"  and  she  knows  it.  She  could  not  teach  music, 
nor  keep  a  school ,  her  own  schooling  —  not  her  educa 
tion  ;  God  never  lets  that  be  cut  short — was  abridged 
by  the  need  of  her  at  home.  But  she  could  do  anything 
in  the  world  with  scissors  and  needle ;  and  she  can  make 
just  the  loveliest  bonnets  that  ever  were  put  together. 

So,  as  she  can  help  more  by  making  two  bonnets  in  a 
day,  and  getting  six  dollars  for  them  beside  the  materials, 
she  lets  her  step-mother  put  out  her  impossible  sewing, 
and  has  turned  a  little  second-story  room  in  her  father's 
house  into  a  private  millinery  establishment.  She  will 
only  take  the  three  dollars  apiece,  beyond  the  actual  cost, 
for  her  bonnets,  although  she  might  make  a  fortune  if 
she  would  be  rapacious ;  for  she  says  that  pays  her  fairly 
for  her  time,  and  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  get 
through  the  world  fairly,  if  there  is  any  breathing-space 
left  for  fairness  in  it.  If  not,  she  can  stop  breathing,  and 
go  where  there  is. 

She  gets  as  much  to  do  as  she  can  take.  "  Miss  Josse- 
lyn  "  is  one  of  the  little  unadvertised  resources  of  New 
York,  which  it  is  very  knowing,  and  rather  elegant,  to 
know  about.  But  it  would  not  be  at  all  elegant  to  have 
her  at  a  party.  Hence,  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne,  who  had  a 
little  bonnet,  of  black  lace  and  nasturtiums,  at  this  very 
time,  that  Martha  Josselyn  had  made  for  her,  was  aston 
ished  to  find  that  she  was  Mrs.  Ingleside's  sister  and  had 
come  on  to  the  marriage. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  183 

General  and  Mrs.  Ingleside  —  Leslie's  cousin  Delight  — 
had  come  from  their  away-off,  beautiful  Wisconsin  home, 
and  brought  little  three-year-old  Rob  and  Rob's  nurse 
with  them.  Sam  Goldthwaite  was  at  home  from  Phila 
delphia,  where  he  is  just  finishing  his  medical  course,  — 
and  Harry  was  just  back  again  from  the  Mediterranean  ; 
so  that  Mrs.  Goldthwaite's  house  was  full  too.  Jack 
could  not  be  here ;  they  all  grieved  over  that.  Jack  is 
out  in  Japan.  But  there  came  a  wonderful  " solid  silk" 
dress,  and  a  lovely  inlaid  cabinet,  for  Leslie's  wedding 
present,  — the  first  present  that  arrived  from  anybody; 
sent  the  day  he  got  the  news ;  —  and  Leslie  cried  over 
them,  and  kissed  them,  and  put  the  beautiful  silk  away, 
to  be  made  up  in  the  fashion  next  year,  when  Jack  comes 
home ;  and  set  his  picture  on  the  cabinet,  and  put  his 
letters  into  it,  and  says  she  does  not  know  what  other 
things  she  shall  find  quite  dear  enough  to  keep  them 
company. 

Last  of  all,  the  very  day  before  the  wedding,  came  old 
Mr.  Marmaduke  Wharne.  And  of  all  things  in  the 
world,  he  brought  her  a  telescope,  "  To  look  out  at 
creation  with,  and  keej,  her  soul  wide,"  he  says,  and  "  to 
put  her  in  mind  of  that  night  when  he  first  found  her  out, 
among  the  Hivites  and  the  Hittites  and  the  Amalekites, 
up  in  Jefferson,  and  took  her  away  among  the  planets, 
out  of  the  snarl." 

Miss  Craydocke  has  been  all  summer  making  a  fernery 
for  Leslie  ;  and  she  took  two  tickets  in  the  cars,  and 
brought  it  down  beside  her,  on  the  seat,  all  the  way  from 
Plymouth,  and  so  out  here.  How  they  could  get  it  to 
wherever  they  are  going  we  all  wondered,  but  Dr. 


184  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

Hautayne  said  it  should  go ;  he  would  have  it  most  curi 
ously  packed,  in  a  box  on  rollers,  and  marked,  —  "  Dr. 
J.  Hautayne,  U.  S.  Army.  Valuable  scientific  prepara 
tions  ;  by  no  means  to  be  turned  or  shaken."  But  he 
did  say,  with  a  gentle  prudence,  —  "  If  somebody  should 
give  you  an  observatory,  or  a  greenhouse,  I  think  we 
might  have  to  stop  at  that,  dear." 

Nobody  did,  however.  There  was  only  one  more  big 
present,  and  that  did  not  come.  Dakie  Thayne  knew 
better.  He  gave  her  a  magnificent  copy  of  the  Sistine 
Madonna,  which  his  father  had  bought  in  Italy,  and  he 
wrote  her  that  it  was  to  be  boxed  and  sent  after  her  to  her 
home.  He  did  not  say  that  it  was  magnificent ;  Leslie 
wrote  that  to  us  afterward,  herself.  She  said  it  made  it 
seem  as  if  one  side  of  her  little  home  had  been  broken 
through  and  let  in  heaven. 

We  were  all  sorry  that  Dakie  could  not  be  here.  They 
waited  till  September  for  Harry ;  "  but  who,"  wrote  Da 
kie,  u  could  expect  a  military  engagement  to  wait  till  all 
the  stragglers  could  come  up  ?  I  have  given  my  consent 
and  my  blessing ;  all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  stop  at  West 
Point  on  your  way."  And  that  was  what  they  were 
going  to  do. 

Arabel  Waite  and  Delia  made  all  the  wedding  dresses. 
But  Mrs.  Goldthwaite  had  her  own  carefully  perfected 
patterns,  adjusted  to  a  line  in  every  part.  Arabel  meekly 
followed  these,  and  saved  her  whole,  fresh  soul  to  pour 
out  upon  the  flutings  and  finishing. 

It  was  a  morning  wedding,  and  a  pearl  of  days.  The 
summer  had  not  gone  from  a  single  leaf.  Only  the  parch 
and  the  blaze  were  over,  and  beautiful  dews  had  cooled 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  185 

away  their  fever.  The  day-lilies  were  white  among  their 
broad,  tender  green  leaves,  and  the  tube-roses  had  come 
in  blossom.  There  were  beds  of  red  and  white  carnations, 
heavy  with  perfume.  The  wide  garden  porch,  into  which 
double  doors  opened  from  the  summer-room  where  they 
were  married,  showed  these,  among  the  grass-walks  of  the 
shady,  secluded  place,  through  its  own  splendid  vista  of 
trumpet-hung  bignonia  vines. 

Everybody  wanted  to  help  at  this  wedding  who  could 
help.  Arabel  Waite  asked  to  be  allowed  to  pour  out  cof 
fee,  or  something.  So  in  a  black  silk  gown,  and  a  new 
white  cap,  she  took  charge  of  the  little  room  up  stairs, 
where  were  coffee  and  cakes  and  sandwiches  for  the 
friends  who  came  from  a  distance  by  the  train,  and  might 
be  glad  of  something  to  eat  at  twelve  o'clock.  Delia  of 
fered,  u  if  she  only  might,"  to  assist  in  the  dining-room, 
where  the  real  wedding  collation  stood  ready.  And  even 
our  Arctura  came  and  asked  if  she  might  be  "  lent,"  to 
"  open  doors,  or  anything."  The  regular  maids  of  the 
house  found  labor  so  divided  that  it  was  a  festival  day  all 
through. 

Arctura  looked  as  pretty  a  little  waiting-damsel  as 
might  be  seen,  in  her  brown,  two-skirted,  best  delaine 
dress,  and  her  white,  ruffled,  muslin  bib-apron,  her  nicely 
arranged  hair,  braided  up  high  around  her  head  and  frizzed 
a  little,  gently,  at  the  front,  —  since  why  should  n't  she, 
too,  have  a  bit  of  the  fashion  ?  —  and  tied  round  with  a 
soft,  simple  white  ribbon.  Delia  had  on  a  violet-and- 
white  striped  pique,  quite  new,  with  a  ruffled  apron  also ; 
and  her  ribbon  was  white,  too,  and  she  had  a  bunch  of 
violets  and  green  leaves  upon  her  bosom.  We  cared  as 


186  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

much  about  their  dress  as  they  did  about  ours.  Barbara 
herself  had  pinched  Arctura's  crimps,  and  tied  the  little 
white  bow  among  them. 

Every  room  in  the  house  was  attended. 

"  There  never  was  such  pretty  serving,"  said  Mrs. 
Van  Alstyne,  afterward.  "  Where  did  they  get  such  peo 
ple? —  And  beautiful  serving,"  she  went  on,  reverting 
to  her  favorite  axiom,  "  is,  after  all,  the  very  soul  of  liv- 
ing!" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Barbara,  gravely.  u  I  think  we 
shall  find  that  true  always." 

Opposite  the  door  into  the  garden  porch  were  corre* 
spending  ones  into  the  hall,  and  directly  down  to  these 
reached  the  last  flight  of  the  staircase,  that  skirted  the 
walls  at  the  back  with  its  steps  and  landings.  We  could 
see  Leslie  all  the  way,  as  she  came  down,  with  her  hand 
in  her  father's  arm. 

She  descended  beside  him  like  a  softly  accompanying 
white  cloud  ;  her  dress  was  of  tulle,  without  a  hitch  or  a 
puff  or  a  festoon  about  it.  It  had  two  skirts,  I  believe, 
but  they  were  plain-hemmed,  and  fell  like  a  mist  about 
her  figure.  Underneath  was  no  rustling  silk,  or  shining 
satin  ;  only  more  mist,  of  finest,  sheerest  quaker-muslin  ; 
you  could  not  tell  where  the  cloud  met  the  opaque  of 
soft,  unstarched  cambric  below  it  all.  And  from  her  head 
to  her  feet  floated  the  shimmering  veil,  fastened  to  her 
hair  with  only  two  or  three  tube-rose  blooms  and  the 
green  leaves  and  white  stars  of  the  larger  myrtle.  There 
was  a  cluster  of  them  upon  her  bosom,  and  she  held  some 
in  her  left  hand. 

Dr.  Hautayne  looked  nobly  handsome,  as  he  came  for* 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  187 

ward  to  her  side  in  his  military  dress ;  but  I  think  we  all 
had  another  picture  of  him  in  our  minds,  —  dusty,  and 
battle-stained,  bareheaded,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  as  he  rode 
across  the  fire  to  save  men's  lives.  When  a  man  has 
once  looked  like  that,  it  does  not  matter  how  he  ever 
merely  looks  again. 

Marmaduke  Wharne  stood  close  by  Ruth,  during  the 
service.  She  saw  his  gray,  shaggy  brows  knit  themselves 
into  a  low,  earnest  frown,  as  he  fixedly  watched  and  lis 
tened  ;  but  there  was  a  shining  underneath,  as  still  water- 
drops  shine  under  the  gray  moss  of  some  old,  cleft  rock ; 
and  a  pleasure  upon  the  lines  of  the  rough-cast  face,  that 
was  like  the  tender  glimmering  of  a  sunbeam. 

When  Marmaduke  Wharne  first  saw  John  Hautayne, 
he  put  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  held  him  so,  while 
he  looked  him  hardly  in  the  face. 

"  Do  you  think  you  deserve  her,  John  ?  "  the  old  man 
said.  And  John  looked  him  back,  and  answered  straightly, 
"  No  !  "  It  was  not  mere  apt  and  effective  reply ;  there 
was  an  honest  heartful  on  the  lips  and  in  the  eyes ;  and 
Leslie's  old  friend  let  his  hand  slip  down  along  the  strong, 
young  arm,  until  it  grasped  the  answering  hand,  and  said 
again,  — 

44  Perhaps,  then,  John,  —  you  '11  do  I  " 

44  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this  man  ?  " 
That  is  what  the  church  asks,  in  her  service,  though  no 
body  asked  it  here  to-day.  But  we  all  felt  we  had  a  share 
to  give  of  what  we  loved  so  much.  Her  father  and  her 
mother  gave  ;  her  girl  friends  gave  ;  Miss  Trixie  Spring, 
Arabel  Waite,  Delia,  little  Arctura,  the  home-servants, 
gathered  in  the  door- way,  all  gave  ;  Miss  Craydocke,  cry- 


188 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 


ing,  and  disdaining  her  pocket-handkerchief  till  the  tears 
trickled  off  her  chin,  because  she  was  smiling  also  and 
would  not  cover  that  up,  —  gave  ;  and  nobody  gave  with 
a  more  loving  wrench  out  of  a  deep  heart,  than  bluff  old 
frowning  Marmaduke  Wharne. 

Nobody  knows  the  comfort  that  we  Holabirds  took, 
though,  in  those  autumn  days,  after  all  this  was  over,  in 
our  home ;  feeling  every  bright,  comfortable  minute,  that 
our  home  was  our  own,  "  It  is  so  nice  to  have  it  to  love 
grandfather  by,"  said  Ruth,  like  a  little  child. 
5  "  Everything  is  so  pleasant,"  said  Barbara,  one  sump 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  189 

tuous  morning.  "I  Ve  so  many  nice  things  that  I  can 
choose  among  to  do.  I  feel  like  a  bee  in  a  barrel  of  sugar. 
I  don't  know  where  to  begin."  Barbara  had  a  new  dress 
to  make ;  she  had  also  a  piece  of  worsted  work  to  begin  ; 
she  had  also  two  new  books  to  read  aloud,  that  Mrs.  Scher- 
man  had  brought  up  from  Boston. 

We  felt  rich  in  much  prospectively ;  we  could  afford 
things  better  now  ;  we  had  proposed  and  arranged  a  book 
club  ;  Miss  Pennington  and  we  were  to  manage  it ;  Mrs. 
Scherman  was  to  purchase  for  us.  Ruth  was  to  have 
plenty  of  music.  Life  was  full  and  bright  to  us,  this  gold 
en  autumn-time,  as  it  had  never  been  before.  The  time 
itself  was  radiant ;  and  the  winter  was  stored  beforehand 
with  pleasures ;  Arctura  was  as  glad  as  anybody  ;  she 
hears  our  readings  in  the  afternoons,  when  she  can  come 
up  stairs,  and  sit  mending  stockings  or  hemming  aprons. 

We  knew,  almost  for  the  first  time,  what  it  was  to  be 
without  any  pressure  of  anxiety.  We  dared  to  look  round 
the  house  and  see  what  was  wearing  out.  We  could  re 
place  things  — some,  at  any  rate  —  as  well  as  not ;  so  we 
had  the  delight  of  choosing,  and  the  delight  of  putting  by ; 
it  was  a  delicious  perplexity.  We  all  felt  like  Barbara's 
bee  ;  and  when  she  said  that  once  she  said  it  for  every  day, 
all  through  the  new  and  happy  time. 

It  was  wonderful  how  little  there  was,  after  all,  that  we 
did  want  in  any  hurry.  We  thought  it  over.  We  did 
not  care  to  carpet  the  dining-room ;  we  liked  the  drugget 
and  the  dark  wood-margins  better.  It  came  down  pretty 
nearly,  at  last,  so  far  as  household  improvements  were  con 
cerned,  to  a  new  broadcloth  cover  for  the  great  family  table 
\n  the  brown-room. 


190  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

Barbara's  5ee-havior,  however,  had  its  own  queer  fluc 
tuations  at  this  time,  it  must  be  confessed.  Whatever 
the  reason  was,  it  was  not  altogether  to  be  depended  on. 
It  had  its  alternations  of  humming  content  with  a  good 
deal  of  whimsical  bouncing  and  buzzing  and  the  most  un 
predictable  flights.  To  use  a  phrase  of  Aunt  Trixie's 
applied  to  her  childhood,  but  coming  into  new  appropri 
ateness  now,  Barbara  "  acted  like  a  witch." 

She  began  at  the  wedding.  Only  a  minute  or  two 
before  Leslie  came  down,  Harry  Goldthwaite  moved  over 
to  where  she  stood  just  a  little  apart  from  the  rest  of  us, 
by  the  porch  door,  and  placed  himself  beside  her,  with 
some  little  commonplace  word  in  a  low  tone,  as  befitted 
the  hushed  expectancy  of  the  moment. 

All  at  once,  with  an  "  O,  I  forgot ! ''  she  started  away 
from  him  in  the  abruptest  fashion,  and  glanced  off  across 
the  room,  and  over  into  a  little  side  parlor  beyond  the 
hall,  into  which  she  certainly  had  not  been  before  that 
day.  She  could  have  "  forgotten  "  nothing  there ;  but 
she  doubtless  had  just  enough  presence  of  mind  not  to 
rush  up  the  staircase  toward  the  dressing-rooms,  at  the 
risk  of  colliding  with  the  bridal  party.  When  Leslie  an 
instant  later  came  in  at  the  double  doors,  Mrs.  Holabird 
caught  sight  of  Barbara  again  just  sliding  into  the  far, 
lower  corner  of  the  room  by  the  forward  entrance,  where 
she  stood  looking  out  meekly  between  the  shoulders  and 
the  floating  cap-ribbons  of  Aunt  Trixie  Spring  and  Miss 
Arabel  Waite  during  the  whole  ceremony. 

Whether  it  was  that  she  felt  there  was  something 
dangerous  in  the  air,  or  that  Harry  Goldthwaite  had 
some  new  awfulness  in  her  eyes  from  being  actually  a 


WE   GIR^S:    A  HOME   STORY.  191 

commissioned  officer,  —  Ensign  Goldthwaite,  now,  (Rose 
had  borrowed  from  the  future,  for  the  sake  of  euphony 
and  effect,  when  she  had  so  retorted  feet  and  dignities 
upon  her  last  year,)  —  we  could  not  guess ;  but  his  name 
or  presence  seemed  all  at  once  a  centre  of  electrical 
disturbances  in  which  her  whisks  and  whirls  were  simply 
to  be  wondered  at. 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  should  tell  me  things,"  was  what 
she  said  to  Rosamond  one  day,  when  she  took  her  to  task 
after  Harry  had  gone,  for  making  off  almost  before  he 
had  done  speaking,  when  he  had  been  telling  us  of  the 
finishing  of  some  business  that  Mr.  Goldthwaite  had 
managed  for  him  in  Newburyport.  It  was  the  sale  of  a 
piece  of  property  that  he  had  there,  from  his  father,  of 
houses  and  building-lots  that  had  been  unprofitable  to 
hold,  because  of  uncertain  tenants  and  high  taxes,  but 
which  were  turned  now  into  a  comfortable  round  sum 
of  money. 

u  I  shall  not  be  so  poor  now,  as  if  I  had  only  my  pay," 
said  Harry.  At  which  Barbara  had  disappeared. 

"  Why,  you  were  both  there  !  "  said  Barbara. 

"Well,  yes;  we  were  there  in  a  fashion.  He  was 
sitting  by  you,  though,  and  he  looked  up  at  you,  just 
then.  It  did  not  seem  very  friendly." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  did  n't  notice  ;  I  don't  see  why  he  should 
tell  me  things,"  said  whimsical  Barbara. 

"  Well,  perhaps  he  will  stop,"  said  Rose,  quietly,  and 
walked  away. 

It  seemed,  after  a  while,  as  if  he  would.  He  could 
not  understand  Barbara  in  these  days.  All  her  nice, 
cordial,  honest  ways  were  gone.  She  was  always  shying 


192  WE  GIRLS:  A  HOME  STORY. 

at  something.  Twice  he  was  here,  when  she  did  not 
come  into  the  room  until  tea-time. 

"  There  are  so  many  people,"  she  said,  in  her  unrea 
sonable  manner.  "  They  make  me  nervous,  looking  and 
listening." 

We  had  Miss  Craydocke  and  Mrs.  Scherman  with  us 
then.  "We  had  asked  them  to  come  and  spend  a  week 
with  us  before  they  left  Z . 

Miss  Craydocke  had  found  Barbara  one  evening,  in  the 
twilight,  standing  alone  in  one  of  the  brown-room  win 
dows.  She  had  come  up,  in  her  gentle,  old-friendly  way, 
and  stood  beside  her. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  with  the  twilight  impulse  of 
nearness,  —  "  I  am  an  old  woman.  Are  n't  you  pushing 
something  away  from  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Ow  !  "  said  Barbara,  as  if  Miss  Craydocke  had  pinched 
her.  And  poor  Miss  Craydocke  could  only  walk  away 
again. 

When  it  came  to  Aunt  Roderick,  though,  it  was  too 
much.  Aunt  Roderick  came  over  a  good  deal  now. 
She  had  quite  taken  us  into  unqualified  approval  again, 
since  we  had  got  the  house.  She  approved  herself  also. 
As  if  it  was  she  who  had  died  and  left  us  something,  and 
looked  back  upon  it  now  with  satisfaction.  At  least,  as 
if  she  had  been  the  September  Gale,  and  had  taken  care 
of  that  paper  for  us. 

Aunt  Roderick  has  very  good  practical  eyes ;  but  no 
sentiment  whatever.  "  It  seems  to  me,  Barbara,  that 
you  are  throwing  away  your  opportunities,"  she  said, 
plainly. 

Barbara  looked  up  with  a  face  of  bold  unconsciousness. 


WE   GIRLS.    A  HOME  STORY.  193 

She  was  brought  to  bay,  now ;  Aunt  Roderick  could 
exasperate  her,  but  she  could  not  touch  the  nerve,  as 
dear  Miss  Craydocke  could. 

"I  always  am  throwing  them  away,"  said  Barbara. 
"  It  ;s  my  fashion.  I  never  could  save  corners.  I  always 
put  my  pattern  right  into  the  middle  of  my  piece,  and 
the  other  half  never  comes  out,  you  see.  What  have  I 
done,  now  ?  Or  what  do  you  think  I  might  do,  just  at 
present  ?  " 

u  I  think  you  might  save  yourself  from  being  sorry  by 
and  by,"  said  Aunt  Roderick. 

"  I  'm  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Barbara, 
collectedly.  "Just  as  much  as  if  I  could  understand. 
But  perhaps  there  '11  be  some  light  given.  I  '11  turn  it 
over  in  my  mind.  In  the  mean  while,  Aunt  Roderick, 
I  just  begin  to  see  one  very  queer  thing  in  the  world. 
You  've  lived  longer  than  I  have  ;  I  wish  you  could  ex 
plain  it.  There  are  some  things  that  everybody  is  very 
delicate  about,  and  there  are  some  that  they  take  right 
hold  of.  People  might  have  po ^^-perplexities  for  years 
and  years,  and  no  created  being  would  dare  to  hint  or 
ask  a  question ;  but  the  minute  it  is  a  case  of  heart  or 
sou}9  —  or  they  think  it  is,  —  they  '  rush  right  in  where 
angels  fear  to  tread.'  What  do  you  suppose  makes  the 
difference  ?  " 

After  that,  we  all  let  her  alone,  behave  as  she  might. 
We  saw  that  there  could  be  no  meddling  without  mar 
ring.  She  had  been  too  conscious  of  us  all,  before  any 
body  spoke.  We  could  only  hope  there  was  no  real 
mischief  done,  already. 

"  It 's  all  of  them,  every  one ! "  she  repeated,  half 


194  WE   GIRLS.    A  HOME   STORY. 

hysterically,  that  day,  after  her  shell  had  exploded,  and 
Aunt  Roderick  had  retreated,  really  with  great  forbear 
ance.  "  Miss  Craydocke  began,  and  I  had  to  scream  at 
her;  even  Sin  Scherman  made  a  little  moral  speech 
about  her  own  wild  ways,  and  set  that  baby  crowing 
over  me !  And  once  Aunt  Trixie  *  vummed '  at  me. 
And  I  'm  sure  I  ain't  doing  a  single  thing !  "  She  whim 
pered  and  laughed,  like  a  little  naughty  boy,  called  to 
account  for  mischief,  and  pretending  surprised  innocence, 
yet  secretly  at  once  enjoying  and  repenting  his  own 
badness ;  and  so  we  had  to  let  her  alone. 

But  after  a  while  Harry  Goldthwaite  stayed  away  four 
whole  days,  and  then  he  only  came  in  to  say  that  he  was 
going  to  Washington  to  be  gone  a  week.  It  was  October, 
now,  and  his  orders  might  come  any  day.  Then  we 
might  not  see  him  again  for  three  years,  perhaps. 

On  the  Thursday  of  that  next  week,  Barbara  said  she 
would  go  down  and  see  Mrs.  Goldthwaite. 

"  I  think  it  quite  time  you  should,"  said  Mrs.  Holabird. 
Barbara  had  not  been  down  there  once  since  the  wedding- 
day. 

She  put  her  crochet  in  her  pocket,  and  we  thought  of 
course  she  would  stay  to  tea.  It  was  four  in  the  after 
noon  when  she  went  away. 

About  an  hour  later  Olivia  Marchbanks  called. 

It  came  out  that  Olivia  had  a  move  to  make.  In  fact, 
that  she  wanted  to  set  us  all  to  making  moves.  She  pro 
posed  a  chess-club,  for  the  winter,  to  bring  us  together 
regularly ;  to  include  half  a  dozen  families,  and  meet  by 
turn  at  the  different  houses. 

"  1  dare  say  Miss  Pennington  will  have  her  neighbor- 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  195 

hood  parties  again,"  she  said  ;  "  they  are  nice,  but  rather 
exhausting ;  we  want  something  quiet,  to  come  in  be 
tween.  Something  a  little  more  among  ourselves,  you 
know.  Maria  Hendee  is  a  splendid  chess-player,  and  so 
is  Mark.  Maud  plays  with  her  father,  and  Adelaide  and 
I  are  learning.  I  know  you  play,  Rosamond,  and  Barba- 
ra>  —  does  n't  she  ?  Nobody  can  complain  of  a  chess-club, 
you  see  ;  and  we  can  have  a  table  at  whist  for  the  elders 
who  like  it,  and  almost  always  a  round  game  for  the  odds 
and  ends.  After  supper,  we  can  dance,  or  anything.  Don't 
you  think  it  would  do  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  do  nicely  for  one  thing,"  said  Rose, 
thoughtfully.  "  But  don't  let  us  allow  it  to  be  the  whole 
of  our  winter." 

Olivia  Marchbanks's  face  clouded.  She  had  put  forward 
a  little  pawn  of  compliment  toward  us,  as  towards  a  good 
point,  perhaps,  for  tempting  a  break  in  the  game.  And 
behold  !  Rosamond's  knight  only  leaped  right  over  it, 
facing  honestly  and  alertly  both  ways. 

"  Chess  would  be  good  for  nothing  less  than  once  a 
week,"  said  Olivia.  "  I  came  to  you  almost  the  very  first, 
out  of  the  family,"  she  added,  with  a  little  height  in  her 
manner.  u  I  hope  you  won't  break  it  up." 

"  Break  it  up  !  No,  indeed  !  We  were  all  getting  just 
nicely  joined  together,"  replied  Rosamond,  ladylike  with 
perfect  temper.  "  I  think  last  winter  was  so  really  good" 
she  went  on  ;  u  I  should  be  sorry  to  break  up  what  that 
did  ;  that  is  all." 

"  I  'm  willing  enough  to  help  in  those  ways,"  said 
Olivia,  condescendingly  ;  "  but  I  think  we  might  have 
our  own  things,  too." 


196  WE   GIELS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

"  I  don't  know,  Olivia,"  said  Rosamond,  slowly,  "  about 
these  <  own  things.'  They  are  just  what  begin  to  puzzle 
me." 

It  was  the  bravest  thing  our  elegant  Rosamond  had 
ever  done.  Olivia  Marchbanks  was  angry.  She  all  but 
took  back  her  invitation. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  getting  up  to  take  leave.  "  It 
must  be  some  time  yet ;  I  only  mentioned  it.  Perhaps  we 
had  better  not  try  to  go  beyond  ourselves,  after  all.  Such 
things  are  sure  to  be  stupid  unless  everybody  is  really  in 
terested." 

Rosamond  stood  in  the  hall-door,  as  she  went  down  the 
steps  and  away.  At  the  same  moment,  Barbara,  flushed 
with  an  evidently  hurried  walk,  came  in.  "  Why  !  what 
makes  you  so  red,  Rose  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Somebody  has  been  snubbing  somebody,"  replied 
Rose,  holding  her  royal  color,  like  her  namesake,  in  the 
midst  of  a  cool  repose.  "  And  I  don't  quite  know  whether 
it  is  Olivia  Marchbanks  or  I." 

"  A  color-question  between  Rose  and  Barberry !  "  said 
Ruth.  "  What  have  you  been  doing,  Barbie  ?  Why 
did  n't  you  stay  to  tea  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  Ve  been  walking,  of  course.  —  That  boy  has 
got  home  again,"  she  added,  half  aloud,  to  Rosamond,  as 
they  went  up  stairs. 

We  knew  very  well  that  she  must  have  been  queer  to 
Harry  again.  He  would  have  been  certain  to  walk  home 
with  her,  if  she  would  have  let  him.  But  —  "all  through 
the  town,  and  up  the  hill,  in  the  daylight !  Or  —  stay  to 
tea  with  him  there,  and  make  him  come,  in  the  dark !  — 
And  if  he  imagined  that  I  knew  !  "  We  were  as  sure  as 


WE   GIRLS,    A  HOME  STORY.  197 

if  she  had  said  it,  that  these  were  the  things  that  were  in 
her  mind,  and  that  these  were  what  she  had  run  away 
from.  How  she  had  done  it  we  did  not  know  ;  we  had 
no  doubt  it  had  been  something  awful. 

The  next  morning  nobody  called.  Father  came  home 
to  dinner  and  said  Mr.  Goldthwaite  had  told  him  that 
Harry  was  under  orders,  —  to  the  "  Katahdin." 

In  the  afternoon  Barbara  went  out  and  nailed  up  the 
woodbines.  Then  she  put  on  her  hat,  and  took  a  great 
bundle  that  had  been  waiting  for  a  week  for  somebody  to 
carry,  and  said  she  would  go  round  to  South  Hollow  with 
it,  to  Mrs.  Dockery. 

"  You  will  be  tired  to  death.  You  are  tired  already, 
hammering  at  those  vines,"  said  mother,  anxiously.  Moth 
ers  cannot  help  daughters  much  in  these  buzzes. 

u  I  want  the  exercise,"  said  Barbara,  turning  away  her 
face  that  was  at  once  red  and  pale.  "  Pounding  and 
stamping  are  good  for  me."  Then  she  came  back  in  a 
hurry,  and  kissed  mother,  and  then  she  went  away. 


198 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


EMERGENCIES. 


IRS.  HOBART  has  a  "fire- 
gown."  That  is  what  she  calls 
it ;  she  made  it  for  a  fire,  or  for 
illness,  or  any  night  alarm  ;  she 
never  goes  to  bed  without  hang 
ing  it  over  a  chair-back,  within 
instant  reach.  It  is  of  double, 
bright-figured  flannel,  with  a 
double  cape  sewed  on ;  and  a 
flannel  belt,  also  sewed  on  be 
hind,  and  furnished,  for  fasten 
ing,  with  a  big,  reliable,  easy 
going  button  and  button-hole. 
Up  and  down  the  front  —  not 
too  near  together  —  are  more 
big,  reliable,  easy-going  buttons 
and  button-holes.  A  pair  of 
quilted  slippers  with  thick  soles 
belong  with  this  gown,  and  are 
laid  beside  it.  Then  Mrs.  Hobart  goes  to  bed  in  peace, 
and  sleeps  like  the  virgin  who  knows  there  is  oil  in  her 
vessel. 

If  Mrs.  Roger  Marchbanks  had  known  of  Mrs.  Hobart's 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  199 

fire-gown,  and  what  it  had  been  made  and  waiting  for, 
unconsciously,  all  these  years,  she  might  not  have  given 
those  quiet  orders  to  her  discreet,  well-bred  parlor-maid, 
by  which  she  was  never  to  be  "  disengaged  "  when  Mrs. 
Hobart  called. 

Mrs.  Hobart  has  also  a  gown  of  very  elegant  black  silk, 
with  deep,  rich  border-folds  of  velvet,  and  a  black  camel's- 
hair  shawl  whose  priceless  margin  comes  up  to  within  three 
inches  of  the  middle  ;  and  in  these  she  has  turned  meekly 
away  from  Mrs.  Marchbanks's  vestibule,  leaving  her  in 
consequential  card,  many  wondering  times  ;  never  doubt 
ing,  in  her  simplicity,  that  Mrs.  Marchbanks  was  really 
making  pies,  or  doing  up  pocket-handkerchiefs ;  only 
thinking  how  queer  it  was  it  always  happened  so  with 
her. 

In  her  fire-gown  she  was  destined  to  go  in. 

Barbara  came  home  dreadfully  tired  from  her  walk  to 
Mrs.  Dockery's,  and  went  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock.  When 
one  of  us  does  that,  it  always  breaks  up  our  evening  early. 
Mother  discovered  that  she  was  sleepy  by  nine,  and  by 
half  past  we  were  all  in  our  beds.  So  we  really  had  a 
fair  half  night  of  rest  before  the  alarm  came. 

It  was  about  one  in  the  morning  when  Barbara  woke, 
as  people  do  who  go  to  bed  achingly  tired,  and  sleep 
hungrily  for  a  few  eager  hours. 

"  My  gracious  !  what  a  moon  !    What  ails  it  ?  " 

The  room  was  full  of  red  light. 

Rosamond  sat  up  beside  her. 

"  Moon  !     It  's  fire  !  " 

Then  they  called  Ruth  and  mother.  Father  and 
Stephen  were  up  and  out  of  doors  in  five  minutes. 


200  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY. 

The  Roger  Marchbanks' s  stables  were  blazing.  The 
wind  was  carrying  great  red  cinders  straight  over  on  to 
the  house  roofs.  The  buildings  were  a  little  down  on  our 
side  of  the  hill,  and  a  thick  plantation  of  evergreens  hid 
them  from  the  town.  Everything  was  still  as  death  but 
the  crackling  of  the  flames.  A  fire  in  the  country,  in  the 
dead  of  night,  to  those  first  awakened  to  the  knowledge  of 
it,  is  a  stealthily  fearful,  horribly  triumphant  thing.  Not 
a  voice  nor  a  bell  smiting  the  air,  where  all  will  soon  be 
outcry  and  confusion ;  only  the  fierce,  busy  diligence  of 
the  blaze,  having  all  its  own  awful  will,  and  making  stead 
fast  headway  against  the  sleeping  skill  of  men. 

We  all  put  on  some  warm  things,  and  went  right  over. 

Father  found  Mr.  Marchbanks,  with  his  gardener,  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  playing  upon  the  scorching  frames 
of  the  conservatory  building  with  the  garden  engine.  Up 
on  the  house-roof  two  other  men-servants  were  hanging 
wet  carpets  from  the  eaves,  and  dashing  down  buckets  of 
water  here  and  there,  from  the  reservoir  inside. 

Mr.  Marchbanks  gave  father  a  small  red  trunk.  u  Will 
you  take  this  to  your  house  and  keep  it  safe  ?  "  he  asked. 
And  father  hastened  away  with  it. 

Within  the  house,  women  were  rushing,  half  dressed, 
through  the  rooms,  and  down  the  passages  and  staircases. 
We  went  up  through  the  back  piazza,  and  met  Mrs.  Ho- 
bart  in  her  fire-gown  at  the  unfastened  door.  There  was 
no  card  to  leave  this  time,  no  servant  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Marchbanks  was  "  particularly  engaged." 

Besides  her  gown,  Mrs.  Hobart  had  her  theory,  all 
ready  for  a  fire.  Just  exactly  what  she  should  do,  first 
and  next,  and  straight  through,  in  case  of  such  a  thing. 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  201 

She  had  recited  it  over  to  herself  and  her  family  till  it 
was  so  learned  by  heart  that  she  believed  no  flurry  of  the 
moment  would  put  it  wholly  out  of  their  heads. 

She  went  straight  up  Mrs.  Marchbanks's  great  oak  stair 
case,  to  go  up  which  had  been  such  a  privilege  for  the 
bidden  few.  Rough  feet  would  go  over  it,  unbidden,  to 
night. 

She  met  Mrs.  Marchbanks  at  her  bedroom  door.  In 
the  upper  story  the  cook  and  house-maids  were  handing 
buckets  now  to  the  men  outside.  The  fine  parlor-maid 
was  down  in  the  kitchen  at  the  force-pump,  with  Olivia  and 
Adelaide  to  help  and  keep  her  at  it.  A  nursery-girl  was 
trying  to  wrap  up  the  younger  children  in  all  sorts  of 
wrong  things,  upside  down. 

"  Take  these  children  right  over  to  my  house,"  said 
Mrs.  Hobart.  "  Barbara  Holabird  !  Come  up  here  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  first,"  said  Mrs.  Marchbanks, 
excitedly.  "  Mr.  Marchbanks  has  taken  away  his  papers  ; 
but  there  's  all  the  silver  —  and  the  pictures  —  and  every 
thing  !  And  the  house  will  be  full  of  men  directly !  " 
She  looked  round  the  room  nervously,  and  went  and 
picked  up  her  braided  "  chignon  "  from  the  dressing-table. 
Mrs.  Marchbanks  could  "  receive  "  splendidly ;  she  had 
never  thought  what  she  should  do  at  a  fire.  She  knew 
all  the  rules  of  the  grammar  of  life  ;  she  had  not  learned 
anything  about  the  exceptions. 

"  Elijah  !  Come  up  here  !  "  called  Mrs.  Hobart  again, 
over  the  balusters.  And  Elijah,  Mrs.  Hobart's  Yankee 
man-servant,  brought  up  on  her  father's  farm,  clattered 
up  stairs  in  his  thick  boots,  that  sounded  on  the  smooth 
oak  as  if  a  horse  were  coming. 


202  WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STOBY. 

Mrs.  Marchbanks  looked  bewilderedly  around  her  room 
again.  "  They  '11  break  everything !  "  she  said,  and  took 
down  a  little  Sevres  cup  from  a  bracket. 

"  There,  Mrs.  Marchbanks  I  You  just  go  off  with  the 
children.  I  '11  see  to  things.  Let  me  have  your  keys." 

"  They  're  all  in  my  upper  bureau-drawer,"  said  Mrs. 
Marchbanks.  "  Besides,  there  is  n't  much  locked,  except 
the  silver.  I  wish  Matilda  would  come."  Matilda  is 
Mrs.  Lewis  Marchbanks.  "  The  children  can  go  there, 
of  course." 

"It  is  too  far,"  said  Mrs.  Hobart.  "Go  and  make 
them  go  to  bed  in  my  great  front  room.  Then  you  '11  feel 
easier,  and  can  come  back.  You'll  want  Mrs.  Lewis 
March banks's  house  for  the  rest  of  you,  and  plenty  of 
things  besides." 

While  she  was  talking  she  had  pulled  the  blankets  and 
coverlet  from  the  bed,  and  sprea^i  them  on  the  floor. 
Mrs.  Marchbanks  actually  walked  down  stairs  with  her 
chignon  in  one  hand  and  the  Sevres  cup  in  the  other. 

"  People  do  do  curious  things  at  fires,"  said  Mrs.  Ho 
bart,  cool,  and  noticing  everything. 

She  had  got  the  bureau-drawers  emptied  now  into  the 
blankets.  Barbara  followed  her  lead,  and  they  took  all 
the  clothing  from  the  closets  and  wardrobe. 

"  Tie  those  up,  Elijah.  Carry  them  off  to  a  safe  place, 
and  come  back,  up  here." 

Then  she  went  to  the  next  room.  From  that  to  the 
next  and  the  next,  she  passed  on,  in  like  manner,  —  Bar 
bara,  and  by  this  time  the  rest  of  us,  helping  ;  stripping 
the  beds,  and  making  up  huge  bundles  on  the  floors  of 
the  contents  of  presses,  drawers,  and  boxes. 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  203 

"  Clothes  are  the  first  thing,"  said  she.  «  And  this 
way,  you  are  pretty  sure  to  pick  up  everything."  Every 
thing  was  picked  up,  from  Mrs.  Marchbanks's  jewel-case 
and  her  silk  dresses,  to  Mr.  Marchbanks's  shaving  brushes, 
and  the  children's  socks  that  they  had  had  pulled  off  last 
night. 

Elijah  carried  them  all  off,  and  piled  them  up  in  Mrs. 
Hobart's  great  clean  laundry-room  to  await  orders.  The 
men  hailed  him  as  he  went  and  came,  to  do  this,  or  fetch 
that.  a  I  'm  doing  one  thing,"  he  answered.  "  You  keep 
to  yourn." 

"  They  're  comin',"  he  said,  as  he  returned  after  his 
third  trip.  "  The  bells  are  ringin',  an'  they  're  a  swarm- 
in'  up  the  hill,  —  two  ingines,  an'  a  ruck  o'  boys  an'  men. 
Melindy,  she  's  keepin'  the  laundry  door  locked,  an'  a  let- 
tin'  on  me  in." 

Mrs.  Marchbanks  came  hurrying  back  before  the 
crowd.  Some  common,  ecstatic  little  boys,  rushing  fore 
most  to  the  fire,  hustled  her  on  her  own  lawn.  She  could 
hardly  believe  even  yet  in  this  inevitable  irruption  of  the 
Great  Uninvited. 

Mrs.  Lewis  Marchbanks  and  Maud  met  her  and  came 
in  with  her.  Mr.  Marchbanks  and  Arthur  had  hastened 
round  to  the  rear,  where  the  other  gentlemen  were  still 
hard  at  work. 

u  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Hobart,  as  lightly  and  cheerily  as  if 
it  had  been  the  putting  together  of  a  Christmas  pudding, 
and  she  were  ready  for  the  citron  or  the  raisins,  —  "  now 
—  all  that  beautiful  china !  " 

She  had  been  here  at  one  great,  general  party,  and  re 
membered  the  china  ;  although  her  party-call,  like  all  he* 


204  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

others,  had  been  a  failure.  Mrs.  Marchbanks  received  a 
good  many  people  in  a  grand,  occasional,  wholesale  civil 
ity,  to  whom  she  would  not  sacrifice  any  fraction  of  her 
private  hours. 

Mrs.  Hobart  found  her  way  by  instinct  to  the  china- 
closet,  —  the  china-room,  more  properly  speaking.  Mrs. 
Marchbanks  rather  followed  than  led. 

The  shelves,  laden  with  costly  pottery,  reached  from 
floor  to  ceiling.  The  polish  and  the  colors  flashed  already 
in  the  fierce  light  of  the  closely  neighboring  flames. 
Great  drifts  and  clouds  of  smoke  against  the  windows 
were  urging  in  and  stifling  the  air.  The  first  rush  of 
water  from  the  engines  beat  against  the  walls. 

"  We  must  work  awful  quick  now,"  said  Mrs.  Hobart. 
"  But  keep  cool.  We  ain't  afire  yet." 

She  gave  Mrs.  Marchbanks  her  own  keys,  which  she 
had  brought  down  stairs.  That  lady  opened  her  safe  and 
took  out  her  silver,  which  Arthur  Marchbanks  and  James 
Hobart  received  from  her  and  carried  away. 

Mrs.  Hobart  herself  went  up  the  step-ladder  that  stood 
there  before  the  shelves,  and  began  to  hand  down  piles  of 
plates,  and  heavy  single  pieces.  "  Keep  folks  out,  Eli 
jah,"  she  ordered  to  her  man. 

We  all  helped.  There  were  a  good  many  of  us  by  this 
time,  —  Olivia,  and  Adelaide,  and  the  servant-girls  re 
leased  from  below,  besides  the  other  Marchbankses,  and 
the  Hobarts,  and  people  who  came  in,  until  Elijah 
stopped  them.  He  shut  the  heavy  walnut  doors  that  led 
from  drawing-room  and  library  to  the  hall,  and  turned 
the  great  keys  in  their  polished  locks.  Then  he  stood  by 
the  garden  entrance  in  the  sheltered  side-angle,  through 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  205 

which  we  passed  with  our  burdens,  and  defended  that 
against  invasion.  There  was  now  such  an  absolute  order 
among  ourselves  that  the  moral  force  of  it  repressed  the 
excitement  without  that  might  else  have  rushed  in  and 
overborne  us. 

"  You  jest  keep  back ;  it 's  all  right  here,"  Elijah 
would  say,  deliberately  and  authoritatively,  holding  the 
door  against  unlicensed  comers  ;  and  boys  and  men  stood 
back  as  they  might  have  done  outside  the  shine  and  splen 
dor  and  privilege  of  an  entertainment. 

It  lasted  till  we  got  well  through ;  till  we  had  gone, 
one  by  one,  down  the  field,  across  to  our  house,  the  short 
way,  back  and  forth,  leaving  the  china,  pile  after  pile, 
safe  in  our  cellar-kitchen. 

Meanwhile,  without  our  thinking  of  it,  Barbara  had 
been  locked  out  upon  the  stairs.  Mother  had  found  a  tall 
Fayal  clothes-basket,  and  had  collected  in  it,  carefully, 
little  pictures  and  precious  things  that  could  be  easily 
moved,  and  might  be  as  easily  lost  or  destoyed.  Barbara 
mounted  guard  over  this,  watching  for  a  right  person  to 
whom  to  deliver  it. 

Standing  there,  like  Casabianca,  rough  men  rushed  by 
her  to  get  up  to  the  roof.  The  hall  was  filling  with  a 
crowd,  mostly  of  the  curious,  untrustworthy  sort,  for  the 
work  just  then  lay  elsewhere. 

So  Barbara  held  by,  only  drawing  back  with  the  bas 
ket,  into  an  angle  of  the  wide  landing.  Nobody  must 
seize  it  heedlessly ;  things  were  only  laid  in  lightly,  for 
careful  handling.  In  it  were  children's  photographs,  taken 
in  days  that  they  had  grown  away  from  ;  little  treasures 
of  art  and  remembrance,  picked  up  in  foreign  travel,  or 


206  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

gifts  of  friends  ;  all  sorts  of  priceless  odds  and  ends  that 
people  have  about  a  house,  never  thinking  what  would 
become  of  them  in  a  night  like  this.  So  Barbara  stood 

by- 

Suddenly  somebody,  just  come,  and  springing  in  at  the 
open  door,  heard  his  name. 

"  Harry  !  Help  me  with  this  !  "  And  Harry  Gold- 
thwaite  pushed  aside  two  men  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase, 
lifted  up  a  small  boy  and  swung  him  over  the  baluster, 
and  ran  up  to  the  landing. 

"  Take  hold  of  it  with  me,"  said  Barbara,  hurriedly. 
"  It  is  valuable.  We  must  carry  it  ourselves.  Don't  let 
anybody  touch  it.  Over  to  Mrs.  Hobart's." 

"  Hendee !  "  called  out  Harry  to  Mark  Hendee,  who 
appeared  below.  "Keep  those  people  off,  will  you? 
Make  way  !  "  And  so  they  two  took  the  big  basket 
steadily  by  the  ears,  and  went  away  with  it  together. 
The  first  we  knew  about  it  was  when,  on  their  way  back, 
they  came  down  upon  our  line  of  march  toward  Elijah's 
door. 

Beyond  this,  there  was  uo  order  to  chronicle.  So  far, 
it  seems  longer  in  the  telling  than  it  did  in  the  doing. 
We  had  to  work  "  awful  quick,"  as  Mrs.  Hobart  said. 
But  the  nice  and  hazardous  work  was  all  done.  Even 
the  press  that  held  the  table-liapery  was  emptied  to  the 
last  napkin,  and  all  was  safe. 

Now  the  hall  doors  were  thrown  open  ;  wagons  were 
driven  up  to  the  entrances,  and  loaded  with  everything 
that  came  first,  as  things  are  ordinarily  "  saved  "  at  a 
fire.  These  were  taken  over  to  Mrs.  Lewis  Marchbanks's. 
Books  and  pictures,  furniture,  bedding,  carpets ;  quanti* 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  207 

ties  were  carried  away,  and  quantities  were  piled  up  on 
the  lawn.  The  men-servants  came  and  looked  after  these; 
they  had  done  all  they  could  elsewhere ;  they  left  the 
work  to  the  firemen  now,  and  there  was  little  hope  of 
saving  the  house.  The  window-frames  were  smoking, 
and  the  panes  were  cracking  with  the  heat,  and  fire 
was  running  along  the  piazza  roofs  before  we  left  the 
building.  The  water  was  giving  out. 

After  that  we  had  to  stand  and  see  it  burn.  The  wells 
and  cisterns  were  dry,  and  the  engines  stood  helpless. 

The  stable  roofs  fell  in  with  a  crash,  and  the  flames 
reared  up  as  from  a  great  red  crater  and  whirlpool  of  fire. 
They  lashed  forth  and  seized  upon  charred  walls  and  tim 
bers  that  were  ready,  without  their  touch,  to  spring  into 
live  combustion.  The  whole  southwest  front  of  the  man 
sion  was  overswept  with  almost  instant  sheets  of  fire. 
Fire  poured  in  at  the  casements ;  through  the  wide,  airy 
halls  ;  up  and  into  the  rooms  where  we  had  stood  a  little 
while  before  ;  where,  a  little  before  that,  the  children  had 
been  safe  asleep  in  their  nursery  beds. 

Mrs.  Marchbanks,  like  any  other  burnt-out  woman, 
had  gone  to  the  home  that  offered  to  her,  —  her  sister-in- 
law's  ;  Olivia  and  Adelaide  were  going  to  the  Haddens ; 
the  children  were  at  Mrs.  Hobart's  ;  the  things  that,  in 
their  rich  and  beautiful  arrangement,  had  made  home,  as 
well  as  enshrined  the  Marchbanks  family  in  their  sacred- 
ness  of  elegance,  were  only  miscellaneous  "  loads  "  now, 
transported  and  discharged  in  haste,  or  heaped  up  con 
fusedly  to  await  removal.  And  the  sleek  servants,  to 
whom,  doubtless,  it  had  seemed  that  their  Rome  could 
never  fall,  were  suddenly,  as  much  as  any  common  Bridg 
ets  and  Patricks,  "  out  of  a  place." 


208  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY 

Not  that  there  would  be  any  permanent  difference  ;  it 
was  only  the  story  and  attitude  of  a  night.  The  power 
was  still  behind ;  the  "  Tailor  "  would  sew  things  over 
again  directly.  Mrs.  Roger  Marchbanks  would  be  com 
paratively  composed  and  in  order,  at  Mrs.  Lewis's,  in  a 
few  days,  —  receiving  her  friends,  who  would  hurry  to 
make  "  fire-calls,"  as  they  would  to  make  party  or  en 
gagement  or  other  special  occasion  visits  ;  the  cordons 
would  be  stretched  again  ;  not  one  of  the  crowd  of  people 
who  went  freely  in  and  out  of  her  burning  rooms  that 
night,  and  worked  hardest,  saving  her  library  and  her 
pictures  and  her  carpets,  would  come  up  in  cool  blood 
and  ring  her  door-bell  now  ;  the  sanctity  and  the  dignity 
would  be  as  unprofanable  as  ever. 

It  was  about  four  in  the  morning  —  the  fire  still  burn 
ing  —  when  Mrs.  Holabird  went  round  upon  the  out 
skirts  of  the  groups  of  lookers-on,  to  find  and  gather  to 
gether  her  own  flock.  Rosamond  and  Ruth  stood  in  a 
safe  corner  with  the  Haddens.  Where  was  Barbara? 

Down  against  the  close  trunks  of  a  cluster  of  linden- 
trees  had  been  thrown  cushions  and  carpets  and  some 
bundles  of  heavy  curtains,  and  the  like.  Coming  up  be 
hind,  Mrs.  Holabird  saw,  sitting  upon  this  heap,  two  per 
sons.  She  knew  Barbara's  hat,  with  its  white  gull's 
breast;  but  somebody  had  wrapped  her  up  in  a  great 
crimson  table-cover,  with  a  bullion  fringe.  Somebody 
was  Harry  Goldthwaite,  sitting  there  beside  her  ;  Bar 
bara,  with  only  her  head  visible,  was  behaving,  out  here 
in  this  unconventional  place  and  time,  with  a  tranquillity 
and  composure  which  of  late  had  been  apparently  im 
possible  to  her  in  parlors. 


WE   G1KLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 


209 


"  What  will  Mrs.  Marchbanks  do  with  Mrs.  Hobart 
after  this,  I  wonder  ?  "  Mrs.  Holabird  heard  Harry  say. 

44  She  '11  give  her  a  sort  of  brevet,"  replied  Barbara. 
"  For  gallant  and  meritorious  services.  It  will  be,  4  Our 
friend  Mrs.  Hobart ;  a  near  neighbor  of  ours ;  she  was 
with  us  all  that  terrible  night  of  the  fire,  you  know." 
It  will  be  a  great  honor  ;  but  it  won't  be  a  full  commis 
sion." 

Harry  laughed. 

"  Queer  things  happen  when  you  are  with  us,"  said 
Barbara.     "  First,  there  was  the  whirlwind,  last  year,  — 
and  now  the  fire." 
14 


210  WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY. 

"  After  the  whirlwind  and  the  fire  —  "  said  Harry. 

"  I  was  n't  thinking  of  the  Old  Testament,"  interrupt 
ed  Barbara. 

"  Came  a  still,  small  voice,"  persisted  Harry.  "  If 
I  'm  wicked,  Barbara,  I  can't  help  it.  You  put  it  into  my 
head." 

44 1  don't  see  any  wickedness,"  answered  Barbara, 
quickly.  "  That  was  the  voice  of  the  Lord.  I  suppose 
it  is  always  coming." 

"  Then,  Barbara—  " 

Then  Mrs.  Holabird  walked  away  again. 

The  next  day  —  that  day,  after  our  eleven  o'clock 
breakfast  —  Harry  came  back,  and  was  at  Westover  all 
day  long. 

Barbara  got  up  into  mother's  room  at  evening,  alone 
with  her.  She  brought  a  cricket,  and  came  and  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  put  her  cheek  upon  her  knee. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  softly,  "  I  don't  see  but  you  '11 
have  to  get  me  ready,  and  let  me  go." 

«  My  dear  child  !     When  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Right  off.  Harry  is  under  orders,  you  know.  And 
they  may  hardly  ever  be  so  nice  again.  And  —  if  we  are 
going  through  the  world  together  —  might  n't  we  as  well 
begin  to  go?" 

"  Why,  Barbara,  you  take  my  breath  away !  But 
then  you  always  do !  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  Katahdin,  fitting  out  at  New  York  to  join 
the  European  squadron.  Commander  Shapleigh  is  a 
great  friend  of  Harry's ;  his  wife  and  daughter  are  in 
New  York,  going  out,  by  Southampton  steamer,  when 
the  frigate  leaves,  to  meet  him  there.  They  would  take 


WE   GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  211 

me,  he  says ;  and  —  that 's  what  Harry  wants,  mother. 
There'll  be  a  little  while  first, — as  much,  perhaps,  as 
we  should  ever  have." 

u  Barbara,  my  darling !     But  you  Ve  nothing  ready  !  " 

u  No,  I  suppose  not.  I  never  do  have.  Everything  is 
an  emergency  with  me  ;  but  I  always  emerge !  I  can 
get  things  in  London,"  she  added.  "  Everybody  does." 

The  end  of  it  was  that  Mrs.  Holabird  had  to  catch  her 
breath  again,  as  mothers  do ;  and  that  Barbara  is  getting 
ready  to  be  married  just  as  she  does  everything  else. 

Rose  has  some  nice  things  —  laid  away,  new;  she 
always  has ;  and  mother  has  unsuspected  treasures  ;  and 
we  all  had  new  silk  dresses  for  Leslie's  wedding,  and  Ruth 
had  a  bright  idea  about  that. 

"  I  'm  as  tall  as  either  of  you,  now,"  she  said  ;  **  and 
we  girls  are  all  of  a  size,  as  near  as  can  be,  mother  and 
all  ;  and  we  '11  just  wear  the  dresses  once  more,  you  see, 
and  then  put  them  right  into  Barbara's  trunk.  They  '11 
be  all  the  bonnier  and  luckier  for  her,  I  know.  We  fan 
get  others  any  time." 

We  laughed  at  her  at  first ;  but  we  came  round  after 
ward  to  think  that  it  was  a  good  plan.  Rosamond's  silk 
was  a  lovely  violet,  and  Ruth's  was  blue  ;  Barbara's  own 
was  pearly  gray  ;  we  were  glad,  now,  that  no  two  of  us 
had  dressed  alike.  The  violet  and  the  gray  had  been 
chosen  because  of  our  having  worn  quiet  black-and-white 
all  summer  for  grandfather.  We  had  never  worn  crape ; 
or  what  is  called  "  deep  "  mourning.  "  You  shall  never 
do  that,"  said  mother,  "  till  the  deep  mourning  com^s. 
Then  you  will  choose  for  yourselves." 

We  have  had  more  time  than  we  expected.     There  has 


212  WE   GIRLS:    A   HOME   STORY. 

been  some  beautiful  delay  or  other  about  machinery,  — . 
the  Katahdin's,  that  is ;  and  Commander  Shapleigh  has 
been  ever  so  kind.  Harry  has  been  back  and  forth  to 
New  York  two  or  three  times.  Once  he  took  Stephen 
with  him  ;  Steve  stayed  at  Uncle  John's ;  but  he  was  down 
at  the  yard,  and  on  board  ships,  and  got  acquainted  with 
some  midshipmen  ;  and  he  has  quite  made  up  his  mind  to 
try  to  get  in  at  the  Naval  Academy  as  soon  as  he  is  old 
enough,  and  to  be  a  navy  officer  himself. 

We  are  comfortable  at  home ;  not  hurried  after  all. 
We  are  determined  not  to  be ;  last  days  are  too  precious. 

"  Don't  let  's  be  all  taken  up  with  '  things,'  "  says  Bar 
bara.  "  I  can  buy  '  things  '  any  time.  But  now,  —  I 
want  you !  " 

Aunt  Roderick's  present  helped  wonderfully.  It  was 
magnanimous  of  her ;  it  was  coals  of  fire.  We  should 
have  believed  she  was  inspired,  —  or  possessed,  —  but 
that  Ruth  went  down  to  Boston  with  her. 

There  came  home,  in  a  box,  two  days  after,  from  Jordan 
and  Marsh's,  the  loveliest  u  suit,"  all  made  and  finished, 
of  brown  poplin.  To  think  of  Aunt  Roderick's  getting 
anything  made,  at  an  "  establishment "  !  But  Ruth  says 
she  put  her  principles  into  her  unpickable  pocket,  and  just 
took  her  porte-monnaie  in  her  hand. 

Bracelets  and  pocket-handkerchiefs  have  come  from 
New  York  ;  all  the  "  girls  "  here  in  Westover  have  given 
presents  of  ornaments,  or  little  things  to  wear  ;  they  know 
there  is  no  housekeeping  to  provide  for.  Barbara  says 
her  trousseau  "  flies  together  "  ;  she  just  has  to  sit  and  look 
at  it. 

She  has  begged  that  old  garnet  and  white  silk,  though. 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME  STORY.  213 

at  last,  from  mother.  Ruth  saw  her  fold  it  up  and  put  it, 
the  very  first  thing,  into  the  bottom  of  her  new  trunk. 
She  patted  it  down  gently,  and  gave  it  a  little  stroke, 
just  as  she  pats  and  strokes  mother  herself  sometimes. 

"  All  new  things  are  only  dreary,"  she  says.  u  I  must 
have  some  of  the  old." 

"  I  should  just  like  to  know  one  thing,  —  if  I  might," 
said  Rosamond,  deferentially,  after  we  had  begun  to  go  to 
bed  one  evening.  She  was  sitting  in  her  white  night 
dress,  on  the  box-sofa,  with  her  shoe  in  her  hand.  "  I 
should  just  like  to  know  what  made  you  behave  so  before 
hand,  Barbara?" 

"  I  was  in  a  buzz,"  said  Barbara.  u  And  it  was  before 
hand.  I  suppose  I  knew  it  was  coming,  — like  a  thunder 
storm." 

"  You  came  pretty  near  securing  that  it  should  tit 
come,"  said  Rosamond,  "  after  all." 

"  I  could  n't  help  that ;  it  was  n't  my  part  of  the  affair." 

"  You  might  have  just  kept  quiet,  as  you  were  before," 
said  Rose. 

u  Wait  and  see,"  said  Barbara,  concisely.  u  People 
should  n't  come  bringing  things  in  their  hands.  It 's  just 
like  going  down  stairs  to  get  these  presents.  The  very 
minute  I  see  a  corner  of  one  of  those  white  paper  parcels, 
don't  I  begin  to  look  every  way,  and  say  all  sorts  of  things 
in  a  hurry  ?  Would  n't  I  like  to  turn  my  back  and  run 
off  if  I  could  ?  Why  don't  they  put  them  under  the  sofa, 
or  behind  the  door,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  After  all  —  "  began  Rosamond,  still  with  the  question 
ing  inflection. 

"  After  all  — "  said  Barbara,  "  there  was  the  fire. 
That,  luckily,  was  something  else  I  " 


214  WE   GIBLSt     A,  HOME  STORY 

"  Does  there  always  have  to  be  a  lire  ?  "  asked  Ruth, 
laughing. 

"  Wait  and  see,"  repeated  Barbara.  "  Perhaps  you  '11 
have  an  earthquake." 

We  have  time  for  talks.  We  take  up  every  little  chink 
of  time  to  have  each  other  in.  We  want  each  other  in 
all  sorts  of  ways  ;  we  never  wanted  each  other  so,  or  had 
each  other  so,  before. 

Delia  Waite  is  here,  and  there  is  some  needful  stitching 
going  on  ;  but  the  minutes  are  alongside  the  stitches  ,  they 
are  not  eaten  up  ;  there  are  minutes  everywhere.  We 
have  got  a  great  deal  of  life  into  a  little  while  ;  and  — 
we  have  finished  up  our  Home  Story,  to  the  very  presen* 
instant. 

Who  finishes  it  ?     Who  tells  it  ? 

Well,  —  "the  kettle  began  it."  Mrs.  Peerybingle  — 
pretty  much  —  finished  it.  That  is,  the  story  began  itself, 
then  Ruth  discovered  that  it  was  beginning,  and  began, 
first,  to  put  it  down.  Then  Ruth  grew  busy,  and  she 
would  n't  always  have  told  quite  enough  of  the  Ruthy 
part ;  and  Mrs.  Holabird  got  hold  of  it,  as  she  gets  hold 
of  everything,  and  she  would  not  let  it  suffer  a  "  solution 
of  continuity."  Then,  partly,  she  observed;  and  partly 
we  told  tales,  and  recollected  and  reminded  ;  and  partly, 
here  and  there,  we  rushed  in,  —  especially  I,  Barbara, — 
and  did  little  bits  ourselves  ;  and  so  it  came  to  be  a  "  Song 
o'  Sixpence,"  and  at  least  four  Holabirds  were  "  singing 
in  the  pie." 

Do  you  think  it  is  —  sarcastically  —  a  "  pretty  dish  to 
set  before  the  king  "  ?  Have  we  shown  up  our  friends 


WE  GIRLS:    A  HOME   STORY.  215 

and  neighbors  too  plainly  ?  There  is  one  comfort ;  nobody 

knows  exactly  where  "  Z "  is  ;  and  there  are  friends 

and  neighbors  everywhere. 

I  am  sure  nobody  can  complain,  if  I  don't.  This  last 
part — the  Barbarous  part  —  is  a  continual  breach  of 
confidence.  I  have  a  great  mind,  now,  not  to  respect 
anything  myself;  not  even  that  cadet  button,  made  into 
a  pin,  which  Ruth  wears  so  shyly.  To  be  sure,  Mrs. 
Hautayne  has  one  too  ;  she  and  Ruth  are  the  only  two 
girls  whom  Dakie  Thayne  considers  worth  a  button  ;  but 
Leslie  is  an  old,  old  friend ;  older  than  Dakie  in  years,  so 
that  it  could  never  have  been  like  Ruth  with  her ;  and 
she  never  was  a  bit  shy  about  it  either.  Besides  — 

Well,  you  cannot  have  any  more  than  there  is.  The 
story  is  told  as  far  as  we  —  or  anybody  —  has  gone.  You 
must  let  the  world  go  round  the  sun  again,  a  time  or  two  ; 
everything  has  not  come  to  pass  yet — even  with  "  We 
Girls." 


THE  END. 


£tatttoarn  anb 

SELECTED  FROM  THE  CATALOGUE  OF 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 


A  Club  of  One.    An  Anonymous  Volume,  $1.25. 

Brooks  Adams.  The  Emancipation  of  Massachusetts,  crown 
8vo,  $1.50. 

John  Adams  and  Abigail  Adams.  Familiar  Letters  of, 
during  the  Revolution,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Oscar  Fay  Adams.  Handbook  of  English  Authors,  i6mo, 
75  cents  ;  Handbook  of  American  Authors,  i6mo,  75  cents. 

Louis  Agassiz.  Methods  of  Study  in  Natural  History,  Illus 
trated,  i2mo,  $1.50;  Geological  Sketches,  Series  I.  and  II., 
I2mo,  each,  $1.50;  A  Journey  in  Brazil,  Illustrated,  I2mo, 
$2.50;  Life  and  Letters,  edited  by  his  wife,  2  vols.  I2mo, 
$4.00;  Life  and  Works,  6  vols.  $10.00. 

Anne  A.  Agge  and  Mary  M.  Brooks.  Marblehead 
Sketches.  4to,  $3.00. 

Elizabeth  Akers.  The  Silver  Bridge  and  other  Poems,  i6mo, 
$1.25. 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich.  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  People,  I2mo,  $1.50; 
Prudence  Palfrey,  I2mo,  $1.50;  The  Queen  of  Sheba,  I2mo, 
$1.50;  The  Stillwater  Tragedy,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Poems,  House 
hold  Edition,  Illustrated,  i2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  $2.25;  The 
above  six  vols.  I2tno,  uniform,  $9.00;  From  Ponkapog  to 
Pesth,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  Poems,  Complete,  Illustrated,  8vo,  $3.50  ; 
Mercedes,  and  Later  Lyrics,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25. 

Eev.  A.  V.  G.  Allen.     Continuity  of  Christian  Thought,  I2mo, 

$2.00. 

American  Commonwealths.     Per  volume,  i6mo,  $1.25. 
Virginia.    By  John  Esten  Cooke. 
Oregon.     By  William  Barrows. 
Maryland.     By  Wm.  Hand  Browne. 
Kentucky.     By  N.  S.  Shaler. 
Michigan.    By  Hon.  T.  M.  Cooley. 


2  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

Kansas.     By  Leverett  W.  Spring. 

California.     By  Josiah  Royce. 

New  York.     By  Ellis  H.  Roberts.    2  vols. 

Connecticut.     By  Alexander  Johnston. 
(In  Preparation.} 

Tennessee.     By  James  Phelan. 

Pennsylvania.     By  Hon.  Wayne  MacVeagh. 

Missouri.     By  Lucien  Carr. 

Ohio.     By  Rufus  King. 

New  Jersey.     By  Austin  Scott. 

American  Men  of  Letters.    Per  vol.,  with  Portrait,  i6mo, 
$1.25. 

Washington  Irving.     By  Charles  Dudley  Warner. 

Noah  Webster.     By  Horace  E.  Scudder. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau.     By  Frank  B.  Sanborn. 

George  Ripley.     By  O.  B.  Frothingham. 

J.  Fenimore  Cooper.     By  Prof.  T.  R.  Lounsbury. 

Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli.     By  T.  W.  Higginson. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.     By  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe.     By  George  E.  Woodberry. 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis.     By  H.  A.  Beers. 
{In  Preparation.} 

Benjamin  Franklin.     By  John  Bach  McMaster. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne.     By  James  Russell  Lowell. 

William  Cullen  Bryant.     By  John  Bigelow. 

Bayard  Taylor.     By  J.  R.  G.  Hassard. 

William  Gilmore  Simms.     By  George  W.  Cable. 
American  Statesmen.     Per  vol.,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

John  Quincy  Adams.     By  John  T.  Morse,  Jr. 

Alexander  Hamilton.     By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge. 

John  C.  Calhoun.     By  Dr.  H.  von  Hoist. 

Andrew  Jackson.     By  Prof.  W.  G.  Sumner. 

John  Randolph.     By  Henry  Adams. 

James  Monroe.     By  Pres.  D.  C.  Gilman. 

Thomas  Jefferson.     By  John  T.  Morse,  Jr. 

Daniel  Webster.     By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge. 

Albert  Gallatin.     By  John  Austin  Stevens. 

James  Madison.     By  Sydney  Howard  Gay. 

John  Adams.     By  John  T.  Morse,  Jr. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  3 

John  Marshall.     By  Allan  B.  Magruder. 
Samuel  Adams.     By  J.  K.  Hosmer. 
Thomas  H.  Benton.     By  Theodore  Roosevelt. 
Henry  Clay.     By  Hon.  Carl  Schurz.     2  vols. 

(In  Preparation.} 

Martin  Van  Buren.     By  Edward  M.  Shepard. 
George  Washington.     By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge.    2  vols. 
Patrick  Henry.     By  Moses  Coit  Tyler. 
Martha  Babcock  Amory.    Life  of  Copley,  8vo,  $3.00. 
Hans  Christian  Andersen.    Complete  Works,  10  vols,  i2ino, 

each  $1.00.     New  Edition,  10  vols.  I2mo,  $10.00. 
Francis,  Lord  Bacon.    Works,  15  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $33.75 ;  Pop 
ular  Edition,  with  Portraits,  2  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Promus  of 
Formularies  and  Elegancies,  8vo,  $5.00;  Life  and  Times  of 
Bacon,  2  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $5.00. 

L.  H.  Bailey,  Jr.    Talks  Afield,  Illustrated,  i6mo,  $1.00. 
M.  M.  Ballou.     Due  West,  cr.  8vo,  $1.50  ;  Due  South,  $1.50. 
Henry  A.  Beers.    The  Thankless  Muse.  Poems.   i6mo,$i.25. 
E.  D.  R.  Bianciardi.     At  Home  in  Italy,  i6mo,  $1.25. 
William  Henry  Bishop.    The  House  of  a  Merchant  Prince, 
a  Novel,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Detmold,  a  Novel,  i8mo,  $1.25 ;  Choy 
Susan  and  other  Stories,  i6mo,  $1.25 ;  The  Golden  Justice, 
i6mo,  $1.25. 

Bjornstjerne  Bjornson.    Complete  Works.    New  Edition, 
3  vols.   i2mo,   the  set,   $4.50;   Synnove   Solbakken,   Bridal 
March,  Captain  Mansana,  Magnhild,  i6mo,  each  $1.00. 
Anne  C.  Lynch  Botta.    Handbook  of  Universal  Literature, 

New  Edition,  I2mo,  $2.00. 
British  Poets.    Riverside  Edition,  cr.  8vo,  each  $1.50 ;  the 

set,  68  vols.  $100.00. 

John  Brown,  A.  B.    John  Bunyan.     Illustrated.     8vo,  $4.50. 
John  Brown,  M.  D.     Spare  Hours,  3  vols.  i6mo,  each  $1.50. 
Robert  Browning.    Poems  and  Dramas,  etc.,  15  vols.  i6mo, 
$22.00;  Works,  8  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $13.00;  Ferishtah's  Fancies, 
cr.  8vo,  $1.00;   Jocoseria,  i6mo,  $1.00;   cr.  8vo,  $1.00;    Par- 
leyings  with  Certain  People  of  Importance  in  their  Day,  i6mo 
or  cr.  8vo,   $1.25.     Works,   New  Edition,   6  vols.  cr.  8vo. 
— —  $10.00. 

William  Cullen  Bryant.    Translation  of  Homer,  The  Iliad 


4.  Houghton^  Mifflin  and  Company s 

cr.  8vo,  $2.50 ;  2  vols.  royal  8vo,  $9.00 ;  cr.  8vo,  $4.00.  The 
Odyssey,  cr.  8vo,  $2.50 ;  2  vols.  royal  8vo,  $9.00 ;  cr.  8vo,  $4.00. 

Sara  C.  Bull  Life  of  Ole  Bull.  Popular  Edition.  I2mo, 
$1.50. 

John  Burroughs.     Works,  7  vols.  i6mo,  each  $1.50. 

Thomas  Carlyle.  Essays,  with  Portrait  and  Index,  4  vols. 
I2mo,  $7.50;  Popular  Edition,  2  vols.  I2mo,  $3.50. 

Alice  and  Phoebe  Gary.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illus 
trated,  I2mo,  $1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25  ;  Library  Edition, 
including  Memorial  by  Mary  Clemmer,  Portraits  and  24  Illus 
trations,  8vo,  $3.50. 

Wm.  Ellery  Channing.  Selections  from  His  Note-Books, 
$1.00. 

Francis  J.  Child  (Editor).  English  and  Scottish  Popular 
Ballads.  Eight  Parts.  (Parts  I.-IV.  now  ready).  4to,  each 
$5.00.  Poems  of  Religious  Sorrow,  Comfort,  Counsel,  and 
Aspiration.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Lydia  Maria  Child.  Looking  Toward  Sunset,  i2mo,  $2.50 ; 
Letters,  with  Biography  by  Whittier,  i6mo,  $1.50. 

James  Freeman  Clarke.  Ten  Great  Religions,  Parts  I.  and 
II.,  I2mo,  each  $2.00 ;  Common  Sense  in  Religion,  I2mo,  $2.00 ; 
Memorial  and  Biographical  Sketches,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

John  Esten  Cooke.     My  Lady  Pokahontas,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

James  Fenimore  Cooper.  Works,  new  Household  Edition, 
Illustrated,  32  vols.  i6mo,  each  $1.00;  the  set,  $32.00;  Fire 
side  Editiony  Illustrated,  16  vols.  I2mo,  $20.00. 

Susan  Fenimore  Cooper.     Rural  Hours.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Charles  Egbert  Craddock.  In  the  Tennessee  Mountains, 
i6mo,  $1.25;  Down  the  Ravine,  Illustrated,  $1.00;  The 
Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,  i6mo,  $1.25 ;  In  The 
Clouds,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

C.  F.  Cranch.  Ariel  and  Caliban.  i6mo,  $1.25 ;  The  ^Eneid 
of  Virgil.  Translated  by  Cranch.  8vo,  $2.50. 

T.  F.  Crane.    Italian  Popular  Tales,  8vo,  $2.50. 

F.  Marion  Crawford.  To  Leeward,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  A  Roman 
Singer,  i6mo,  $1.25;  An  American  Politician,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

M.  Creighton.  The  Papacy  during  the  Reformation,  4  vols. 
8vo,  $17.50. 

Richard  H.  Dana.  To  Cuba  and  Back,  i6mo,  $1-25;  Two 
Years  Before  the  Mast,  i2mo,  #1.00. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  5 

G.  W.  and  Emma  De  Long.  Voyage  of  the  Jeannette.  2 
vols.  8vo,  $7.50 ;  New  One-Volume  Edition,  8vo,  $4.50. 

Thomas  De  Quincey.  Works,  12  vols.  i2mo,  each  $1.50; 
the  set,  $18.00. 

Madame  De  Stael.    Germany,  i2mo,  $2.50. 

Charles  Dickens.  Works,  Illustrated  Library  Edition,  with 
Dickens  Dictionary,  30  vols.  I2mo,  each  $1.50 ;  the  set,  $45.00. 

J.  Lewis  Diman.  The  Theistic  Argument,  etc.,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ; 
Orations  and  Essays,  cr.  8vo,  $2.50. 

Theodore  A.  Dodge.  Patroclus  and  Penelope,  Illustrated, 
8vo,  $3.00.  The  Same.  Outline  Illustrations.  Cr.Svo,  $1.25. 

E.  P.  Dole.    Talks  about  Law.     Cr.  8vo,  $2.00;  sheep,  $2.50. 

Eight  Studies  of  the  Lord's  Day.    i2mo,  $1.50. 

George  Eliot.    The  Spanish  Gypsy,  a  Poem,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  1 1  vols. 
each  $1.75;  the  set,  $19.25;  "Little  Classic"  Edition,  n  vols. 
i8mo,  each,  $1.50;  Parnassus,  Household  Edition,  I2mo,  $1.75  , 
Library  Edition,  8vo,  $4.00  ;  Poems,  Household  Edition,  POJ. 
trait,  i2mo,  $1.75  ;  Memoir,  by  J.  Elliot  Cabot,  2  vols.  $3.50. 

English  Dramatists.  Vols.  1-3,  Marlowe's  Works;  Vols. 
4-11,  Middleton's  Works;  Vols.  12-14,  Marston's  Works; 
each  vol.  $3.00 ;  Large-Paper  Edition,  each  vol.  $4.00. 

Edgar  Fawcett.  A  Hopeless  Case,  i8mo,  $1.25  ;  A  Gentle 
man  of  Leisure,  i8mo,  $1.00;  An  Ambitious  Woman,  I2mo, 
$1.50. 

F£nelon.    Adventures  of  Telemachus,  i2mo,  $2.25. 

James  T.  Fields.  Yesterdays  with  Authors,  i2mo,  $2.00;  8vo, 
Illustrated,  $3.00  ;  Underbrush,  i8mo,$i.25  ;  Ballads  and  other 
Verses,  i6mo,  $1.00;  The  Family  Library  of  British  Poetry, 
royal  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Memoirs  and  Correspondence,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

John  Fiske.  Myths  and  Mythmakers,  i2mo,  $2.00;  Outlines 
of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  2  vols.  8vo,  $6.00 ;  The  Unseen  World, 
and  other  Essays,  I2mo,  $2.00 ;  Excursions  of  an  Evolutionist, 
i2mo,  $2.00;  The  Destiny  of  Man,  i6mo,  $1.00;  The  Idea  of 
God,  i6mo,  $1.00;  Darwinism,  and  Other  Essays,  New  Edi 
tion,  enlarged,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Edward  Fitzgerald.     Works.     2  vols.  8vo,  $10.00. 

O.  B.  Frothingham.    Life  of  W.  H.  Channing.   Cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

William  H.  Furness.    Verses,  i6mo,  vellum,  $1.25. 


6  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

Gentleman's  Magazine  Library.  14  vols.  8vo,  each  $2.50; 
Roxburgh,  $3.50;  Large-Paper  Edition,  $6.00.  I.  Manners  and 
Customs.  II.  Dialect,  Proverbs,  and  Word-Lore.  III.  Pop 
ular  Superstitions  and  Traditions.  IV.  English  Traditions 
and  Foreign  Customs.  V.,  VI.  Archaeology.  VII.  Romano- 
British  Remains  :  Part  I.  (Last  two  styles  sold  only  in  sets.) 

John  F.  Genung.    Tennyson's  In  Memoriam,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25. 

Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe.  Faust,  Part  First,  Trans 
lated  by  C.  T.  Brooks,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  Faust,  Translated  by  Bay 
ard  Taylor,  cr.  8vo,  $2.50 ;  2  vols.  royal  8vo,  $9.00;  2  vols.  I2mo, 
l4.oo;  Correspondence  with  a  Child,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Wilhelm 
Meister,  Translated  by  Carlyle,  2  vols.  I2mo,  $3.00.  Life,  by 
Lewes,  together  with  the  above  five  I2mo  vols.,  the  set,  $9.00. 

Oliver  Goldsmith.    The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  32mo,  $1.00. 

Charles  George  Gordon.    Diaries  and  Letters,  8vo,  $2.00. 

George  H.  Gordon.  Brook  Farm  to  Cedar  Mountain,  1861-2. 
8vo,  $3.00.  Campaign  of  Army  of  Virginia,  1862.  8vo,  $4.00. 
A  War  Diary,  1863-5.  8vo,  $3.00. 

George  Zabriskie  Gray.  The  Children's  Crusade,  I2mo, 
$1.50;  Husband  and  Wife,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

F.  W.  Gunsaulus.   The  Transfiguration  of  Christ.    i6mo,  $1.25. 

Anna  Davis  Hallo-well.    James  and  Lucretia  Mott,  $2.00. 

R.  F.  Hallo  well.  Quaker  Invasion  of  Massachusetts,  revised, 
$1.25.  The  Pioneer  Quakers,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy.  But  Yet  a  Woman,  i6mo,  $1.25  ; 
The  Wind  of  Destiny,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Bret  Harte.  Works,  6  vols.  cr.  8vo,  each  $2.00;  Poems, 
Household  Edition,  Illustrated,  I2mo,  $1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt, 
$2.25;  Red-Line  Edition,  small  4to,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition, 
$1.00 ;  In  the  Carquinez  Woods,  i8mo,  $1.00;  Flip,  and  Found 
at  Blazing  Star,  i8mo,  $1.00;  On  the  Frontier,  i8mo,  $1.00; 
By  Shore  and  Sedge,  i8mo,  $1.00;  Maruja,  i8mo,  $1.00; 
Snow-Bound  at  Eagle's,  i8mo,  $1.00;  The  Queen  of  the  Pirate 
Isle,  Illustrated,  small  4to,  $1.50;  A  Millionaire,  etc.,  i8mo, 
$1.00 ;  The  Crusade  of  the  Excelsior,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  Works,  "Little  Classic"  Edition, 
Illustrated,  25  vols.  i8mo,  each  $1.00;  the  set  $25.00;  New 
Riverside  Edition,  Introductions  by  G.  P.  Lathrop,  n  Etch 
ings  and  Portrait,  12  vols.  cr.  8vo,  each  $2.00 ;  Wayside  Edi 
tion,  with  Introductions,  Etchings,  etc.,  24  vols.  I2mo,  $36.00; 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  7 

Fireside  Edition,  6  vols.  I2mo,  $10.00;   The   Scarlet  Letter, 
I2mo,  $1.00. 

John  Hay.  Pike  County  Ballads,  i2mo,  $1.50;  Castilian 
Days,  i6mo,  $2.00. 

Caroline  Hazard.     Memoir  of  J.  L.  Dimaiv    Cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

Franklin  H.  Head.  Shakespeare's  Insomnia.  i6mo,  parch 
ment  paper,  75  cents. 

The  Heart  of  the  Weed.  Anonymous  Poems.  i6mo,  parch 
ment  paper,  $1.00. 

S.  E.  Herrick.     Some  Heretics  of  Yesterday.     Cr.  8vo,  $1.50. 

George  S.  Hillard.     Six  Months  in  Italy.     i2mo,  $2.00. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illus 
trated,  I2mo,  $1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25  ;  Illustrated  Library 
Edition,  8vo,  $3. 50 ;  Handy-  Volume  Edition,  2  vols.  321110, 
$2.50;  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00; 
Handy -Volume  Edition,  32mo,  $1.25;  The  Professor  at  the 
Breakfast-Table,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00;  The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast. 
Table,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ;  Elsie  Venner,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ;  The  Guar 
dian  Angel,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00;  Medical  Essays,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00; 
Pages  from  an  Old  Volume  of  Life,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ;  John  Lo- 
throp  Motley,  A  Memoir,  i6mo,  $1.50;  Illustrated  Poems, 
8vo,  $4.00 ;  A  Mortal  Antipathy,  cr.  8vo,  $1.50 ;  The  Last 
Leaf,  Illustrated,  4to,  $10.00. 

Nathaniel  Holmes.  The  Authorship  of  Shakespeare.  New 
Edition.  2  vols.  $4.00. 

Blanche  Willis  Howard.  One  Summer,  Illustrated,  I2mo, 
$1.25;  One  Year  Abroad,  i8mo,  $1.25. 

William  D.  Howells.  Venetian  Life,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Italian 
Journeys,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Their  Wedding  Journey,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  i8mo,  $1.25;  Suburban  Sketches,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  A  Chance  Acquaintance,  Illustrated,  I2mo, 
$1.50;  i8mo,  $1.25;  A  Foregone  Conclusion,  I2mo,  $1.50; 
The  Lady  of  the  Aroostook,  I2mo,  $1.50;  The  Undiscovered 
Country,  I2mo,  $1.50. 

Thomas  Hughes.  Tom  Brown's  School-Days  at  Rugby, 
i6mo,  $1.00  ;  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  The  Man 
liness  of  Christ,  i6mo,  $1.00;  paper,  25  cents. 

William  Morris  Hunt.    Talks  on  Art,  2  Series,  each  jjti.oo. 


8  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

Henry  James.  A  Passionate  Pilgrim  and  other  Tales,  i2mo, 
$2.00;  Transatlantic  Sketches,  I2mo,  $2.00;  Roderick  Hud 
son,  I2mo,  $2.00 ;  The  American,  I2ino,  $2.00  ;  Watch  and 
Ward,  i8mo,  $1.25;  The  Europeans,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Confidence, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  The  Portrait  of  a  Lady,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Anna  Jameson.  Writings  upon  Art  Subjects.  New  Edition, 
10  vols.  i6mo,  the  set,  $12.50. 

Sarah  Orne  Jewett.  Deephaven,  i8mo,  $1.25  ;  Old  Friends 
and  New,  i8mo,  $1.25  ;  Country  By-Ways,  i8mo,  $1.25 ;  Play- 
Days,  Stories  for  Children,  square  i6mo,  $1.50;  The  Mate  of 
the  Daylight,  i8mo,  $1.25  ;  A  Country  Doctor,  i6mo,  $1.25  ; 
A  Marsh  Island,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  A  White  Heron,  i8mo,  $1.25. 

Rossiter  Johnson.  Little  Classics,  18  vols.  i8mo,  each  $1.00 ; 
the  set,  $18.00. 

Samuel  Johnson.  Oriental  Religions:  India,  8vo,  $5.00; 
China,  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Persia,  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Lectures,  Essays,  and 
Sermons,  cr.  8vo,  $1.75. 

Charles  C.  Jones,  Jr.     History  of  Georgia,  2  vols.  8vo,  $10.00. 

Malcolm  Kerr.     The  Far  Interior.     2  vols.  8vo,  $9.00. 

Omar  Khayyam.  Rubaiyat,  Red-Line  Edition,  square  i6mo., 
$r.oo  ;  the  same,  with  56  Illustrations  by  Vedder,  folio,  $25.00 ; 
The  Same,  Phototype  Edition,  4*0,  $12.50. 

T.  Starr  King.  Christianity  and  Humanity,  with  Portrait, 
I2mo,  $1.50  ;  Substance  and  Show,  i6mo,  $2.00. 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb.  Tales  from  Shakespeare.  Han 
dy-Volume  Edition.  32mo,  $1.00. 

Henry  Lansdell.     Russian  Central  Asia.     2  vols.  $10.00. 

Lucy  Larcom.  Poems,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  An  Idyl  of  Work,  i6mo, 
$1.25;  Wild  Roses  of  Cape  Ann  and  other  Poems,  i6mo, 
$1.25;  Breathings  of  the  Better  Life,  i8mo,  $1.25;  Poems, 
Household  Edition,  Illustrated,  I2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  $2.25 ; 
Beckonings  for  Every  Day,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

George  Parsons  Lathrop.    A  Study  of  Hawthorne    x8mo, 

$1.25- 

Henry  C.  Lea.    Sacerdotal  Celibacy,  8vo,  $4.50. 
Sophia  and  Harriet  Lee.    Canterbury  Tales.     New  Edition. 

3  vols.  I2mo,  $3.75. 
Charles  G.  Leland.    The  Gypsies,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ;  Algonquin 

Legends  of  New  England,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.  9 

George  Henry  Lewes.  The  Story  of  Goethe's  Life,  Portrait, 
I2mo,  $1.50;  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,  5  vols.  8vo,  $14.00. 

A.  Parlett  Lloyd.  The  Law  of  Divorce,  cloth,  $2.00  ;  sheep, 
$2.50. 

J.  G.  Lockhart.    Life  of  Sir  W.  Scott,  3  vols.  i2mo,  $4.50. 

Henry  Cabot  Lodge.     Studies  in  History,  cr.  8vo,  $1.50. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.  Complete  Poetical  and 
Prose  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  n  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $16.50;  Po 
etical  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  6  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $9.00 ;  Cam- 
bridge^Edition,  4  vols.  I2mo,  $7.00  ;  Poems,  Octavo  Editiont 
Portrait  and  300  Illustrations,  $7.50;  Household  Edition,  Illus 
trated,  I2mo,  $1.75;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Red-Line  Edition, 
Portrait  and  12  Illustrations,  small  4to,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition, 
$1.00 ;  Library  Edition,  Portrait  and  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50 ; 
Christus,  Household  Edition,  $1.75;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25; 
Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00;  Prose  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  2 
vols.  cr.  8vo,  $3.00;  Hyperion,  i6mo,  $1.50  ;  Kavanagh,  i6mo, 
$1.50;  Outre-Mer,  i6mo,  $1.50;  In  the  Harbor,  i6mo,  $1.00; 
Michael  Angelo  :  a  Drama,  Illustrated,  folio,  $5.00  ;  Twenty 
Poems,  Illustrated,  small  4to,  $2.50 ;  Translation  of  the  Divina 
Commedia  of  Dante,  Riverside  Edition,  3  vols.  ovSvo,  $4.50  ; 
i  vol.  cr.  8vo,  $2.50;  3  vols.  royal  8vo,  $13.50;  cr.  8vo,  $4.50; 
Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,  royal  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Poems  of 
Places,  31  vols.  each  $1.00;  the  set,  $25.00. 

James  Russell  Lowell.  Poems,  Red-Line  Edition,  Portrait, 
Illustrated,  small  4to,  $2.50  ;  Household  Edition,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25  ;  Library  Edition,  Portrait 
and  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50  ;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00 ;  Fire 
side  Travels,  121110,  $1.50  ;  Among  my  Books,  Series  I.  and  II. 
I2mo,  each  $2.00;  My  Study  Windows,  I2mo,  $2.00;  Democ 
racy  and  other  Addresses,  i6mo,  $1.25;  Uncollected  Poems. 

Thomas    Babington    Macaulay.     Works,  16  vols.  12010, 

$20.00. 

Mrs.  Madison.     Memoirs    and    Letters   of    Dolly  Madison, 

i6mo,  $1.25. 
Harriet  Martineau.    Autobiography,   New  Edition,  2  vols. 

I2mo,  $4.00;  Household  Education,  i8mo,  $1.25. 
H.  B.  McClellan.     The  Life  and  Campaigns  of  Maj.-Gen. 

J.  E.  B.  Stuart.     With  Portrait  and  Maps,  8vo,  $3.00. 
G.  W.  Melville.    In  the  Lena  Delta,  Maps  and  Illustrations, 

8vo,  $2.50. 


io  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

T.  C.  Mendenhall.    A  Century  of  Electricity.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Owen  Meredith.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illustrated, 
I2mo,  $1-75;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Library  Edition,  Por 
trait  and  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50 ;  Lucile,  Red-Line  Edi* 
tion,  8  Illustrations,  small  4to,  $2.50  ;  Cabinet  Edition,  8  Illus. 
trations,  $1.00. 

Olive  Thorne  Miller.    Bird-Ways,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

John  Milton.  Paradise  Lost.  Handy-  Volume  Edition.  32mo, 
$1.00.  Riverside  Classic  Edition,  i6mo,  Illustrated,  $1.00. 

S.  "Weir  Mitchell.  In  War  Time,  i6mo,  #1.25;  Roland 
Blake,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

J.  W.  Mollett  Illustrated  Dictionary  of  Words  used  in  Art 
and  Archaeology,  small  4to,  $5.00. 

Montaigne.    Complete  Works,  Portrait,  4  vols.     i2mo,  $7.501 

William  Mountford.    Euthanasy,  i2mo,  $2.00. 

T.  Mozley.  Reminiscences  of  Oriel  College,  etc.,  2  vols.  i6mo, 
$3.00. 

Elisha  Mulford.  The  Nation,  8vo,  $2.50;  The  Republic  of 
God,  8vo,  $2.00. 

T.  T.  Munger.  On  the  Threshold,  i6mo,  $1.00  ;  The  Freedom 
of  Faith,  1 6m  o,  $1.50 ;  Lamps  and  Paths,  i6mo,  $1.00 ;  The 
Appeal  to  Life,  i6mo,  $1.50. 

J.  A.  W.  Neander.  History  of  the  Christian  Religion  and 
Church,  with  Index  volume,  6  vols.  8vo,  $20.00  ;  Index,  $3.00. 

Joseph  Neilson.     Memories  of  Rufus  Choate,  8vo,  $5.00. 

Charles  Eliot  Norton.  Notes  of  Travel  in  Italy,  i6mo,  $1.25 ; 
Translation  of  Dante's  New  Life,  royal  8vo,  $3.00. 

Wm.  D.  O'Connor.    Hamlet's  Note-Book,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

G.  H.  Palmer.     Trans,  of  Homer's  Odyssey,  1-12,  8vo,  $2.50. 

Leighton  Parks.     His  Star  in  the  East.     Cr.  8vo,  $1.50. 

James  Parton.  Life  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  2  vols.  8vo,  $5.00 ; 
Life  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  8vo,  $2.50;  Life  of  Aaron  Burr, 
2  vols.  8vo,  $5.00 ;  Life  of  Andrew  Jackson,  3  vols.  8vo,  $7.50 ; 
Life  of  Horace  Greeley,  8vo,  $2.50;  General  Butler  in  New 
Orleans,  8vo,  $2.50;  Humorous  Poetry  of  the  English  Lan 
guage,  I2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  $2.25;  Famous  Americans  of 
Recent  Times,  8vo,  $2.50  ;  Life  of  Voltaire,  2  vols.  8vo,  $6.00; 
The  French  Parnassus,  I2mo,  $1.75  ;  crown  8vo,  $3.50 ;  Cap 
tains  of  Industry,  i6mo,  $1.25. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.          n 

Blaise  Pascal.    Thoughts,  I2mo,  $2.25;  Letters,  i2mo,  $2.25. 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps.  The  Gates  Ajar,  i6mo,  $1.50 ; 
Beyond  the  Gates,  i6mo,  $1.25;  Men,  Women,  and  Ghosts, 
i6mo,  $1.50;  Hedged  In,  i6mo,  #1.50;  The  Silent  Partner, 
i6mo,  $1.50;  The  Story  of  Avis,  i6mo,  $1.50  ;  Sealed  Orders, 
and  other  Stories,  i6mo,  $1.50;  Friends:  A  Duet,  i6mo, 
$1.25  ;  Doctor  Zay,  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  Songs  of  the  Silent  World, 
i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25  ;  An  Old  Maid's  Paradise,  i6mo,  paper,  50 
cents  ;  Burglars  in  Paradise,  i6mo,  paper,  50  cents  ;  Madonna 
of  the  Tubs,  cr.  8vo,  Illustrated,  $1.50. 

Phillips  Exeter  Lectures :  Delivered  before  the  Students  of 
Phillips  Exeter  Academy,  1885-6.  By  E.  E.  HALE,  PHILLIPS 
BROOKS,  Presidents  McCosH,  PORTER,  and  others.  i2mo, 
$1.50. 

Mrs.  &.  M.  B.  Fiatt    Selected  Poems,  i6mo,  $1.50. 

Carl  Ploetz.    Epitome  of  Universal  History,  i2mo,  $3.00. 

Antoniu  Lefevre  Pontalis.  The  Life  of  John  DeWitt, 
Grand  Pensionary  of  Holland,  2  vols.  8vo,  $9.00. 

Margaret  J.  Preston.    Colonial  Ballads,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Adelaide  A.  Procter.  Poems,  Cabinet  Edition,  #1.00;  Red- 
Line  Edition,  small  4to,  $2.50. 

Progressive  Orthodoxy.    i6mo,  $1.00. 

Sampson  Reed.    Growth  of  the  Mind,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

C.  P.  Richardson.   Primer  of  American  Literature,  i8mo,  $  .30. 

Riverside  Aldine  Series.  Each  volume,  i6mo,  $1.00.  First 
edition,  $1.50.  i.  Marjorie  Daw,  etc.,  by  T.  B.  ALDRICH; 
2.  My  Summer  in  a  Garden,  by  C.  D.  WARNER;  3.  Fireside 
Travels,  by  J.  R.  LOWELL  ;  4.  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  etc., 
by  BRET  HARTE  ;  5,  6.  Venetian  Life,  2  vols.,  by  W.  D.  HOW- 
ELLS  ;  7.  Wake  Robin,  by  JOHN  BURROUGHS  ;  8, 9.  The  Biglow 
Papers,  2  vols.,  by  J.  R.  LOWELL  ;  10.  Backlog  Studies,  by  C. 
D.  WARNER. 

Henry  Crabb  Robinson.  Diary,  Reminiscences,  etc.  cr.  8vo, 
$2.50. 

John  C.  Ropes.  The  First  Napoleon,  with  Maps,  cr.  8vo,$2.oo. 

Josiah  Royce.    Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,  i2mo,  $2.00. 

Edgar  Evertson  Saltus.  Balzac,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25  ;  The  Phi 
losophy  of  Disenchantment,  cr.  8vo,  $1.25. 

John  Godfrey  Saze.    Poems,  Red-Line  Edition,  Illustrated, 


12  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company's 

small  4to,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00;  Household  Edition, 
Illustrated,  i2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25. 

Sir  Walter  Scott.  Waverley  Nbvels,  Illustrated  Library 
Edition,  25  vols.  I2mo,  each  $1.00  ;  the  set,  $25.00 ;  Tales  of  a 
Grandfather,  3  vols.  I2mo,  $4.50  ;  Poems,  Red-Line  Edition 
Illustrated,  small  4to,  $2.50 ;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00. 

W.  H.  Seward.  Works,  5  vols.  8vo,  $15.00;  Diplomatic  His 
tory  of  the  War,  8vo,  $3.00. 

John  Campbell  Shairp.  Culture  and  Religion,  i6mo,  $1.25 ; 
Poetic  Interpretation  of  Nature,  i6mo,  $1.25;  Studies  in  Po 
etry  and  Philosophy,  i6mo,  $1.50;  Aspects  of  Poetry,  i6mo, 
$1.50. 

William  Shakespeare.  Works,  edited  by  R.  G.  White,  Riv 
erside  Edition,  3  vols.  cr.  8vo,  $7.50  ;  The  Same,  6  vols.,  cr. 
8vo,  uncut,  $10.00 ;  The  Blackfriars  Shakespeare,  per  vol. 
$2.50,  net.  (In  Press.} 

A.  P.  Sinnett.  Esoteric  Buddhism,  i6mo,  $1.25;  The  Occult 
World,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

M.  C.  D.  Silsbee.     A  Half  Century  in  Salem.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

Dr.  William  Smith.  Bible  Dictionary,  American  Edition,  4 
vols.  8vo,  $20.00. 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman.  Poems,  Farringford  Edition, 
Portrait,  i6mo,  $2.00;  Household  Edition,  Illustrated,  I2mo, 
$1.75  ;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25  ;  Victorian  Poets,  I2mo,  $2.00; 
Poets  of  America,  I2mo,  $2.25.  The  set,  3  vols.,  uniform, 
I2mo,  $6.00;  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  an  Essay,  vellum,  i8mo,  $1.00. 

W.  W.  Story.  Poems,  2  vols.  i6mo,  $2.50;  Fiammetta:  A 
Novel,  i6mo,  $1.25.  Roba  di  Roma,  2  vols.  i6mo,  $2.50. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  Novels  and  Stories,  lovols.  i2mo, 
uniform,  each  $1.50;  A  Dog's  Mission,  Little  Pussy  Willow, 
Queer  Little  People,  Illustrated,  small  4to,  each  $1.25  ;  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,  100  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.00 ;  Library  Edition, 
Illustrated,  I2mo,  $2.00  ;  Popular  Edition,  I2mo,  $r.oo. 

Jonathan  Swift.  Works,  Edition  de  Luxe,  19  vols.  8vo,  the 
set,  $76.00. 

T.  P.  Taswell-Langmead.  English  Constitutional  History. 
New  Edition,  revised,  8vo,  $7.50. 

Bayard  Taylor.  Poetical  Works,  Household  Edition,  I2mo, 
$1.75  ;  cr.  8vo,  full  gilt,  $2.25  ;  Melodies  of  Verse,  i8mo,  vel- 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.          13 

lum,  $1.00;  Life  and  Letters,  2  vols.  I2mo,  $4.00;  Dramatic  Po 
ems,  I2mo,  $2.25;  Household  Edition,  I2mo,  $1.75;  Life  and 
Poetical  Works,  6  vols.  uniform.  Including  Life,  2  vols. ;  Faust, 
2  vols. ;  Poems,  I  vol.  ;  Dramatic  Poems,  I  vol.  The  set,  cr. 
8vo,  $12.00. 

Alfred  Tennyson.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Portrait  and 
Illustrations,  I2mo,  $1.75;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25;  Illus 
trated  Crown  Edition,  2  vols.  8vo,  $5.00  ;  Library  Edition, 
Portrait  and  60  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50;  Red- Line  Edition, 
Portrait  and  Illustrations,  small  4to,  $2.50 ;  Cabinet  Edition, 
$1.00;  Complete  Works,  Riverside  Edition,  6  vols.  cr.  8vo, 
$6.00. 

Celia  Thaxter.  Among  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  i8mo,  $1.25  ; 
Poems,  small  4to,  $1.50;  Drift- Weed,  i8mo,  $1.50;  Poems 
for  Children,  Illustrated,  small  4to,  $1.50  ;  Cruise  of  the  Mys 
tery,  Poems,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Fdith  M.  Thomas.  A  New  Year's  Masque  and  other  Poems, 
i6mo,  $1.50;  The  Round  Year,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Joseph  P.  Thompson.  American  Comments  on  European 
Questions,  8vo,  $3.00. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau.  Works,  9  vols.  i2mo,  each  $1.50;  the 
set,  $13.50. 

George  Ticknor.  History  of  Spanish  Literature,  3  vols.  8vo, 
$10.00;  Life,  Letters,  and  Journals,  Portraits,  2  vols.  I2mo, 
$4.00. 

Bradford  Torrey.    Birds  in  the  Bush,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Sophus  Tromholt.  Under  the  Rays  of  the  Aurora  Borealis, 
Illustrated,  2  vols.  $7.50. 

Mrs.  Schuyler  Van  Rensselaer.  H.  H.  Richardson  and 
his  Works. 

Jones  Very.     Essays  and  Poems,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

Annie  Wall.     Story  of  Sordello,  told  in  Prose,  i6mo,  $1.00. 

Charles  Dudley  Warner.  My  Summer  in  a  Garden,  River 
side  Aldine  Edition,  i6mo,  $1.00  ;  Illustrated  Edition,  square 
i6mo,  $1.50;  Saunterings,  i8mo,  $1.25;  Backlog  Studies, 
Illustrated,  square  i6mo,  $1.50;  Riverside  Aldine  Edition, 
i6mo,  $1.00;  Baddeck,  and  that  Sort  of  Thing,  i8mo,  $1.00; 
My  Winter  on  the  Nile,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00 ;  In  the  Levant,  cr.  8vo, 
$2.00;  Being  a  Boy,  Illustrated,  square  i6mo,  $1.50;  In  the 


14          Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books. 

Wilderness,  i8mo,  75  cents;  A  Roundabout  Journey,  I2mo, 
|l,50, 

William  P.  Warren,  LL.  D.    Paradise  Found,  cr.  8vo,  $2.00. 

William  A.  "Wheeler.  Dictionary  of  Noted  Names  of  Fic 
tion,  I2mo,  $2.00. 

Edwin  P.  Whipple.    Essays,  6  vols.  cr.  8vo,  each  $1.50. 

Richard  Grant  White.  Every-Day  English,  12010,  $2.00; 
Words  and  their  Uses,  I2mo,  $2.00;  England  Without  and 
Within,  I2mo,  $2.00;  The  Fate  of  Mansfield  Humphreys, 
i6mo,  $1.25;  Studies  in  Shakespeare,  I2mo,  $1.75. 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney.  Stories,  12  vols.  i2mo,  each  $1.50; 
Mother  Goose  for  Grown  Folks,  I2mo,  $1.50;  Pansies,  i6mo, 
$1.25;  Daffodils,  i6mo,  $1.25;  Just  How,  i6mo,  $1.00;  Bon- 
nyborough,  i2mo,  $1.50;  Holy  Tides,  i6mo,  75  cents;  Home 
spun  Yarns,  I2mo,  $1.50. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier.  Poems,  Household  Edition,  Illus 
trated,  I2mo,  $1.75  ;  full  gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25  ;  Cambridge  Edi 
tion,  Portrait,  3  vols.  I2mo,  $5.25  ;  Red-Line  Edition,  Por 
trait,  Illustrated,  small  4*0,  $2.50;  Cabinet  Edition,  $1.00; 
Library  Edition,  Portrait,  32  Illustrations,  8vo,  $3.50 ;  Prose 
Works,  Cambridge  Edition,  2  vols.  I2mo,  $3.50;  The  Bay  of 
Seven  Islands,  Portrait,  i6mo,  $1.00;  John  Woolman's  Jour 
nal,  Introduction  by  Whittier,  $1.50;  Child  Life  in  Poetry, 
selected  by  Whittier,  Illustrated,  I2mo,  $2.00;  Child  Life  in 
Prose,  I2mo,  $2.00;  Songs  of  Three  Centuries,  selected  by 
Whittier:  Household  Edition,  Illustrated,  I2mo,  $1.75;  full 
gilt,  cr.  8vo,  $2.25;  Library  Edition,  32  Illustrations,  8vo, 
$3.50  ;  Text  and  Verse,  i8mo,  75  cents  ;  Poems  of  Nature,  410, 
Illustrated,  $6.00;  St.  Gregory's  Guest,  etc.,  i6mo,  vellum, 
$1.00. 

Woodrow  Wilson.  Congressional  Government,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

T.  A.  Wilstach.  Translation  of  Virgil's  Works,  2  vols.  cr.  8vo, 
$5.00. 

Justin  Winsor.  Reader's  Handbook  of  American  Revolu 
tion,  i6mo,  $1.25. 

W.  B.  Wright.  Ancient  Cities  from  the  Dawn  to  the  Day 
light,  i6mo,  $1.25. 


T?  A  Tf  Y 

RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

•  2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 
(510)642-6753 

•  1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing 
books  to  NRLF 

•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made 
4  days  prior  to  due  date 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


JUN  1  7  2004 


APR  1 1  2004 


'16 


DD20   15M  4-02 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


237365 


